


Blind to the Touch

by Keirarose



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Artists, Blind Stiles Stilinski, Fluff and Smut, House Party, M/M, Murder, Panic Attacks, Scenting, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2020-11-23 22:24:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20897099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keirarose/pseuds/Keirarose
Summary: Derek moves back to Beacon Hills after more than 10 years. He meets an intriguing blind artist who reminds him of a boy from his childhood. Could it really be him or is that just wishful thinking?





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! This is my first Teen Wolf fic, I hope you like it! I have written a few chapters ahead and plan to release chapters every other Friday! This way it gives me enough time to feel satisfied with my work but hopefully soon enough to keep you satisfied as well! I'll do my best to stick to it! I will update tags and characters as they come up! Thank you for reading!

_"Touch. It is touch that is the deadliest enemy of chastity, loyalty, monogamy, gentility with its codes and conventions and restraints. By touch we are betrayed and betray others ... an accidental brushing of shoulders or touching of hands ... hands laid on shoulders in a gesture of comfort that lies like a thief, that takes, not gives, that wants, not offers, that awakes, not pacifies. When one flesh is waiting, there is electricity in the merest contact." -Wallace Stegner, Angle of Repose_

**Derek**

_He's running_ _._

_The smoke is billowing from the pile of ash behind him. His family screams. It's deafening. They're reaching for him. Screaming for him to help them. He can't. He can't because he's running... _

_And he doesn't know if he can stop_.

Derek shakes his head, slowing to a walk, grounding himself to his current position. Being here, back in Beacon Hills has taken it's toll. _It will take some adjusting_, he tells himself. He's only been here a few weeks.

When the little white walk signal flashes, he continues his jog, skidding around a large brick building. _Final stretch to home_, he thinks just as he collides with a thin, lanky young man. He fall backwards, papers scattering all over the sidewalk.

"Shit. I'm sorr-..." Derek starts. He pauses as the man lifts his head revealing golden eyes, hiding behind long, thick lashes, that glitter as the sun hit them.

"Watch where you're walking, dude." He stammers as his hands roam around the concrete, eyes remain unfocused out in front of him. "Well are you gonna help me, asshole? Kinda blind here."

Derek swears his heart momentarily stops beating as his brain scrutinizes the stranger's scent. He reaches down, picking up some of the papers. His jaw slacks as the savor floods his nostrils. So familiar, yet he can't quite place it. Something so tangible yet, out of reach.

"You..." Derek questions breathlessly, and not from the exertion of his run. He stares at him, dumbfounded.

"You going to finish that sentence or are we still working on putting two words together, caveman?" The man snaps as his hands grasp his thin, white cane desperately. He's clutching only a small portion of the papers he had originally been carrying. He sighs, pulling his knees under him as he dragging his fingers across the ground in search of the rest of them.

"Uh. Hang on. You missed some." Derek murmurs, bending down to retrieve them. He hands the rest back to the man who is just getting back onto his feet. Their fingertips brush ever so lightly, sending shocks throughout Derek's body.

"Thanks." He says sharply as he tucks them under his arm. Derek watches as he stands for a moment, feeling the ground around with his cane. He turns his head one way, then the other.

"You're looking South now, toward University Street. The library is just across the street to your right, there. Do you need help getting anywhere?" Derek asks. The man shakes his head before stalking off rigidly. Derek stays rooted in the spot, watching as he turns around, cane tapping the sidewalk and heads to the Fine Arts Center.

Derek readies himself to continue his jog. He watches as the other man's brown hair which sticks up slightly in the back, like he's just woken up from a nap, disappears into the building large brick building.

Derek's legs yank him forward as the man disappears from view; suddenly desperate not to lose sight of him. Derek wanders through the front doors of the old withering structure. He rubs his palms against his shorts as he scents the air around him. He disregards the other half of the building that seems to be dedicated to music and theater as the aroma pulls him toward the section for visual arts.

He passes through the double doors underneath the metal letters that read "Visual Arts" and enters into a lobby type area.

Movement in the corner of a large room off to his right catches his eye. Derek watches as the man walks comfortably around the area without his cane, which lay on a long, wooden table in the center of the room. Large machines are scattered throughout the space. One has a large yellow wheel, another a small crank. Papers are littered over the room, hardly leaving any of the wall visible. 

The man disappears into a closet for a few moments, returning with an armful of materials. Derek creeps closer, careful not to make too much noise. The concrete floors echo as the pile is discarded onto the floor. The man sits hunched over on the ground. His long, thin legs stretch out in front of him as he runs his fingers over a piece of glass. Derek stands quietly in the doorway, watching as a small metal tool is used to scrape at what Derek realizes must be plexiglass. The scraping makes an awful high pitched sound as he rakes the tool against it. It makes his skin itch and his ears ring. After a few moments of scouring, the man's fingers flutter once more over the glass.

He has an earphone in one ear, the other dangles around his neck. His grey, stained long sleeve rolled up, the arms bunched up above his elbows. Derek is fascinated as he watches the muscles in his arms flex under his light skin, his blue veins spidering underneath. Faded scars decorate his arms harshly. Derek's fingers clench as he recalls eerily similar scars on a boy from so long ago...

_Derek was 10; him and his two sister's were living in Beacon Hills. Their parents owned an art gallery that worked with the University in town. His mother was an amazing painter. They_ _ lived comfortably and had many acquaintances._

_ He was a good son, a good student, and a good friend. His parents raised their children to be kind, humble and hard working. They had to be._

_"We have a guest coming tomorrow. A young boy." His mother had announced solemnly one evening over dinner. He had been excited. Someone to share things with, to teach things to, to ride bikes with and play outside with. _

_"His name is Stiles. He's younger than you, Derek. About 4 years old. He um,...." His mother passed, her eyes and voice softened with sadness, her scent turning slightly sour. ".. he's had some difficult things happen recently. So, we will need to be very patient with him. Do you think you can do that?" _

_"Of course, mom. What happened?" _

_"Well... Stiles recently became blind. And lost a parent. His father, Sheriff Stilinski, is in the hospital. He's badly injured. His mother..." She trailed off. "Well, they thought that if they could place him with someone around his age, he might feel a bit more comfortable."_

_ "He can't see? Like at all? What happened to him? Is he blind forever?" _

_"We don't know, Derek." His father interrupted. "But we're going to take great care of him, right?" _

_Derek nodded, determined. _

_ He went straight upstairs to his computer. After typing a few variations of "helping a blind person", he came across a wikiHow article on assisting blind people. _

_"Okay, don't move stuff, offer help, and talk to them. Seems easy enough!" He said to no one in particular. His mom had come and suggested that he tidy his room, making sure nothing was on the floor to trip over. They decided it would be best to put Stiles in Derek's room for the time being. His chest swelled with pride. He felt adequately prepared for his new roommate._

_He could not have been more mistaken._

_ A young dark skinned man with curly black hair brought Stiles over the following day. The boy said nothing as he trailed behind the man, looking downward, his hand had the hem of the man's shirt clenched into a wad in his palm. The man introduced him to Derek's parents. The small boy remained static the entire time. It wasn't until the man tried to leave that he made a sound. A terrible screech as the man pried his shirt out of the boys strong grip, backing away. Stiles's hands_ _ flailed out in front of him, trying to find it. His feet however, stayed rooted on the spot. _

_"I'm so sorry, I really do need to go. Please call if you need anything. He should calm down here soon." He said, looking concerned as he backed out of the door. Derek's mom tried to console him with a gentle touch on his shoulder. He screamed louder, his hands coming up to slap her away. _

_"We will just give you a minute, Stiles. I know this is all very scary. Derek will be here if you need anything, he can show you. Or he will come get us if you would prefer... I think he might be more comfortable with you, Der. Do you mind?" He shook his head slowly, eyes wide with shock. This was definitely not what he had expected. _

_Derek walked up to the boy slowly, leaving some space between them so he would hopefully not get hit. Even to his young nose, the sour distress that flooded the room made him feel uneasy. He could also smell the calming waves from his Alpha parents, seeping in from the next room. They might not affect the boy, but it helped Derek to remain calm._

_ He was so small. His red, tattered hoodie hung off of him like a poncho, dangling around his knees. His jeans were rolled up at the bottom, clearly too long for his thin, short legs. His brown hair stood straight up like he had been electrocuted. Dark bruises and cuts decorated what Derek guessed was once fair skin. White gauze wrapped around his thin, fragile looking limbs. His_ _long lashes brushed against the pale skin of his cheek, revealing striking amber eyes._

_ "Hi." Derek said cautiously. "Uh.. I'm standing right in front of you." The boy had stopped screaming but instinctively jerked backwards, leaning away from Derek._

_ "I won't touch you, since you don't seem to like that..." He added. "Do.... do you want me to explain what our house looks like?" He remembered the internet saying that it's helpful to describe things, especially places, so that he could make sense of where he was. Stiles didn't say anything, but his shoulders relaxed slightly as he leaned forward a smidge._

_ Derek smiled, "Well. You're standing in the living room now. There's a couch a few feet in front of you and an end table next to that. We have a TV and a fire place in the corner to your right." He explained the living room for almost 10 minutes, talking about the color of the furniture and what pictures they had up on the tan colored walls._

_ "Maybe we can take some pictures with you too, then you can be up on the wall." He paused, extending his arm out. "My arm is in front of you. If you grab it, I can show you where our room is and the bathroom." Stiles's hand clenched into a tight fist for a moment. Derek waited patiently, his arm still out in front of him. Ever so slowly, the boy reached out. His finger tips brushed Derek's sleeve. Stiles pulled back briefly, before finally clutching the fabric._

_ Derek beamed as he walked past his parents who were watching quietly from the dining room table. He led Stiles to the bathroom, which was just down the hall on the left, talking to him as they went. He counted the steps from the bathroom door to the toilet, sink and bathtub. Stiles reached out tentatively to touch each one before they moved on to the bedroom._

_ "You can sleep on the bottom bunk. I'll take the top one cause I'm older." Stiles reached out, his fingers dragging over the comforter. In the end, Stiles refused to let go of Derek. Derek slept on the bottom bunk with Stiles's arms wrapped tightly around Derek's neck. It was uncomfortable, but every time he attempted to pry the kids arms off, he would whine and claw at Derek until he had them secured again._

_ That's how they spent their summer. Stiles's hand permanently attached to Derek._

The scars on this man's forearms had faded over time. No longer pink, but a glistening white that was hardly lighter than his pale skin. They could easily go unnoticed. He lets out a pained sigh and lets the hand that had unknowingly made it's way to cover his mouth, fall to his side. 

"Scott? That you?" Derek froze. _Shit_. He resists the urge to take a few steps back. 

"... Lydia?" His voice slightly cautious.

"Uhh..." At this, the man looks up toward the sound. His eyebrows furrowed, concentrating.

"Who the hell are you?" He snaps.

"I was just-..." Derek starts. His heart thuds in his chest as he looks over the man's face. His upper lip has a distinguished shape, his nose turned up slightly at the end and a discerning beauty mark on his left cheek. It couldn't be...

"Caveman?" His face softens slightly. "You stalking me?"

Derek winces, "I'm not a caveman."

"Four words! You're catching on quick there big guy. Come help me out." The man stands, setting his work on the wooden table. He dips into the same closet from earlier, reappearing with a stack of papers, a jar and some rags.

"Read this" he sets the jar on the table, scooting it towards Derek slightly.

"Um... Akua.. intal-gee-o ink? Bone black." He snorts and holds out his hand for the jar. Derek hands it to him gently.

"Thanks." He continues smirking as he unscrews the jar, scooping a glob of ink out with plastic spoon and placing it on the glass. Derek watches as he delicately spreads it out over the glass's surface before proceeding to scrub it off with a white, thin cloth. His hand, so precise.

"So... What are you doing?"

"It's printmaking. I would suggest it as a filler course if you have room. Professor Deaton is great."

"During the summer?"

"I just graduated, he said I could still use the studio space even though classes aren't in session yet." There's another lingering silence. Derek can hear the heartbeats of the students and staff around the school, but none as clearly as the man in front of him. It thrums steadily in his chest, like the rhythm to an unwaivering melody. Derek leans forward, catching a deep whiff of the fragrant petrichor, like rain after a long drought.

"How do you feel about helping a poor crippled student?" The question snaps Derek out of his scent induced daze.

"I feel like I'd go to hell if I said no."

"That's true. You would definitely go to hell." The man explains the press, how it works. How to register the paper so it's in the center. He tells Derek about the process he's using, how it works well for his lack of sight.

"So.. are you completely blind?"

"Mostly. I can see shadows and light sometimes, but it's more distracting than anything."

"I'm sorry."

He shrugs, continuing his lecture on how long you soak the paper in water. Derek is being scolded for touching the paper before it's ready when footsteps come rushing in.

"Dude, words cannot describe how sorry I am! I got stuck at lacrosse, coach was brutal!"

"Hey, no problem. I suckered this sourpus into helping me. He makes an okay assistant." The young man that had just entered has a pronounced chin, with brown hair and eyes. He reeks of sweat and dirt, but not in the subtle way that the blind man does. It's harsher and stronger scent. He seems vaguely familiar.

"Scott." He holds up his hand in a casual wave, introducing himself. Derek gives a short nod.

"Derek."

"Stiles!" The other man chirps from across the room. Derek swears his heart actually stops.

"Hey, did you hear the old owner of the gallery was coming back to Beacon Hills?" Scott asks.

"What? No! Hasn't it been abandoned for like 6 years? Old bastard is probably going to turn it into another sports building. No offense, jockstrap."

"None taken, Picasso. But yeah, something like that."

The conversation continues despite Derek's silence as his brain struggles to catch up.

_Stiles... Stiles! Stiles is alive. He's right here in front of him._

His nostrils flare, basking in the familiar fragrance of his long lost friend. The closest thing he had to family left.

_ Stiles_.

His eyes flicker to the man that's diligently working on scrubbing a second print. A smirk plays on his lips as he chats idly with Scott. Derek wanders over to where the first print lay on a wire drying rack. At first glance, it only looks like purposeful black scribbles on paper. As he studies it more he realizes that it vaguely resembles the face of a woman. The lips full and the features soft. It's subtle but still extremely intricate.

"It's beautiful."

"Is it?" Stiles smiles and hums approvingly.

"I should go." Stiles begins to speak but Derek has already fled the building.

_ Stiles_.

Mind and heart racing. Running again.

_ Stiles_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! As promised, here's the next chapter! It's going to switch between point of views of Stiles and Derek. I hope you enjoy it!! I'll update again in two weeks!

**Stiles**

Stiles hears the water ripple and promptly smacks the man's hand out of the soaking basin which holds his archival paper in it. 

"Stop, you'll ruin it. That shit's expensive and I'm poor." 

A mumbled "sorry" barely passes his ears as the slapping of Scott's sneakers comes rushing in. 

"Dude, words cannot describe how sorry I am! I got stuck at lacrosse, coach was brutal!" 

"Hey, no problem. I suckered caveman here into helping me. He makes an okay assistant." Stiles replies as he blots his paper with the towel. 

Scott and him have been close friends since Kindergarten. Nobody was more excited when Stiles had moved back to Beacon Hills, than Scott. He spent months nagging and begging, actual on-his-knees begging his dad to let him move into an apartment with Scott when he graduated high school. He finally agreed. Stiles loves that Scott doesn't coddle him like most people do but still is considerate of things related to his blindness. 

"Scott." His friend states, an introduction.

"Derek." It didn't even occur to Stiles that they hadn't exchanged names yet. 

"Stiles!" He pipes up, his ears feel warm as the slight embarrassment sets in. He harassed this man all afternoon, forced him into helping him and didn't even ask for his name. 

"Hey, did you hear the owner of that old gallery was coming back to Beacon Hills?" Scott asks.

"What? No! Hasn't it been abandoned for like 6 years? Old bastard is probably going to turn it into another sports building. No offense, jockstrap." 

Scott is a lacrosse junkie. Which Stiles finds hilarious since he never actually gets to play. He's decent enough to make the team, but just barely. He's a last resort to the team, so it seems. 

"None taken, Picasso. But yeah, something like that."

Scott jumps right in, registering Stiles's paper and running it through the press. Stiles hears his footsteps receed to the drying rack with his print.

He wanders over to the table to start inking his plate again, preparing it for the next print. 

"It's beautiful." He hears Derek say nearby. His voice deep but light, it rumbles, yet it's smooth. Stiles finds he likes it very much, he finds himself soon standing beside him. 

"Is it?" He inquires smugly. Whoever said flattery won't get you anywhere, lied. 

"I should go." 

"Huh? Why? You can-" 

"He's already out the door, Stiles." Scott interrupts. Stiles's shoulders slump. _Well, that was rude._

"Dick." He huffs. 

"Weird guy. Where'd you pick him up at?" 

"The pound. Isn't he cute?" 

Scott chuckles. "No, really, do you know him?"

"Uhhhh... I mean, not really. He knocked me over outside and then stalked me in here, so I conned him into helping me since you were a no-show."

Scott winces, "I said I was sorry! Anyways, I think he's our neighbor. The one that works out too much."

"Like... are we talking Arnold Schwarzenegger or Magic Mike?"

"Um, Magic Mike, I guess? I don't know!" 

"Ooooo.. sexy back!" Stiles sings obnoxiously as he rubs the ink onto his plexiglass plate again. He wiggles his hips and sings his own version of "bow chika wow wow".

"Buckle up, buttercup. We are in for a long night." He sings as he shakes his ass.

Scott groans, "Ew, Stiles, stop! Why don't you do things during daytime hours like a normal person? Seriously!" 

"You know, you don't _have_ to help me. I can find someone else". Stiles argues, his hand resting on his popped hip. 

Scott scoffs, "I'm surprised you even let him help you, you're too anal retentive to let anyone else do it. Shut up and let's get to work. But you're buying me pizza."

"The pizza's here." Scott murmurs some odd hours later. Stiles hears the chair legs scrape against the floor as he pushes it back, footsteps padding over to hall. A gasp, followed by a few choice swear words peaks his interest.

"Scott?" He inquires. 

"Yeah, sorry. This damn dog scared the shit out of me. I think it's the same one that's been hanging around here for a few months." 

"Puppy?!" Stiles sets down everything in his hands and stumbles as quickly as he can over to Scott's voice. 

"Dog. Stiles. It's huge. Like. Part wolf or something." 

Stiles sighs. He wants to pet it. He's been kind of lost since his first seeing eye dog passed away. He kept him long after he should have retired. He lived more as a pet than a service animal. The damn thing almost killed him a few times, letting him walk into traffic and such but he loved it so much. 

"Okay." Stiles hears Scott take a deep breath and brave the animal outside. 

Stiles waits. No screams. No growling. He waits longer. He hears a car door shut. Footsteps nearing. 

"Oh, God, this pizza smells amazing." Scott exclaims, stepping foot back into the building. 

"Is the dog still there?" 

"Forget the dog. We have pizza." 

Stiles chuckles but lingers near the door for a moment before heading back to the studio. 

They eat with gusto, polishing off two pizzas, bread sticks and a two liter of soda in a record time. They continue making prints into the wee hours of the morning. When they finally finish, Scott is snoring softly at the table while Stiles tidies. He considers waking him to head home but by now he's gotten his second wind and wants to begin a new series. 

There's a deep, low whine and a scratching sound in the hallway. Stiles pads out of the studio, to the door. The back of his hand touches the cool metal of the handle. His hand trembles a little, adrenaline rushing into his system. He takes a deep breath and pushes it open about an inch. 

"Where are you?" He speaks softly, barely above a whisper and pushes it open a few more inches.

He stiffens as he faintly hears the rapid inhale and exhale of the animal. He feels something cool and wet nudge his left hand that dangles at his side. 

Warm air huffs against the thin skin on the top of his hand. His fist is balled tight, as if prepared to swing. Not that he would stand much of a chance. Ever so slowly, he opens his hand until his palm is held out flat. Its coat is uncharacteristically soft for what Scott had described as a mangy stray. He runs his hand along the length of it's head cautiously. The animals head presses into the touch, yearning for more affection. 

Stiles slips out of the door, kneeling down. Relief washes over him, the dog calming him in a way that no human, except maybe his dad and Scott, could. The dog gives a low, contented groan as Stiles scratches at his ears. It leans into him, throwing him off balance and causing him to sit down on the concrete. It's then that he realizes how large this dog was. Sitting, it's snout is higher up than Stiles's face. It sniffs at his forehead before nuzzling into his shoulder. It rubs its head over Stile's body roughly, bumping and pressing against him as he scratches and pets it, studying its structure. He feels the way the fur curls up at his chest, how the long hairs from his ears reach down to his head, his long snout and thin whiskers that protrude from either side. 

"Good dog." He coos. The large mammal flops down next to him, warming his side in the cool morning air. This is Stiles's favorite time of day, early in the morning before everyone else is awake. He's rarely awake at this time, often only experiencing it when he's stayed up all night. He idly rubs the dog as he thinks about school, his dad and Scott. He feels proud and excited about being on his own. Scott and him are still working out some kinks. Scott needs to remember to pick shit up and Stiles needed to remember to ask before going back to their apartment when Scott and Allison are there. Let's just say it's a good thing he's already blind. 

A small whine leaves the dog as it nudges at his hand, which has stopped moving. 

"Sorry." He mumbles, his hand and eyelids both feeling heavy. 

_"Stiles?" His mom cooes gently. "Stiles, it's time to get up." She reaches over and rubs his shoulder gently. Her brown hair falls over her shoulder as she leans forward, smiling brightly. Her eyes warm and inviting. Stiles opens his mouth to speak to her but a thick liquid suddenly pools inside his lips, spilling out. He gasps and sputters as the unknown substance chokes him, filling up his mouth and nose. His eyes widen as he sees his mom grinning, her mouth widening into a toothy, terrifying grin as she chants his name. _

_"Stiles... Stiles... ..." _

_The fluid seeps from his ears, he can feel it trickling down his neck, it feels hot on his skin. His vision blurs as it begins to secrete from his eyes. It's black and hot, like fresh tar. It burns. It hurts. It hurts so bad. _

_"Mom..." He manages to whisper. "Help..."_

_ "STILES! STILES!" _

He jerks awake. His hands feeling the warm concrete around him. He feels a cool breeze against his cheek, something cooling against his skin. Tears. He's been crying. He rubs them away hastily. 

It was a dream. Of course it was. He could see. He exhales heavily as he reality of his blindness sets in once again.

"Stiles?" Professor Deaton speaks cautiously. "Are you alright?" 

"Yeah." Stiles wipes the tears away quickly with the back of his hand. "Shit! Did I miss our meeting?" 

"No. You're early... Have you been here all night?" 

"Yeah." Stiles holds out his hand. Deaton grasps it firmly and hoists him up. Stiles finds the man's elbow and rests his hand there, letting the professor lead him into the school. 

Scott's snoring fills the room as Stiles presents his prints to his professor. 

"This is Lydia, isn't it?" Stiles can hear the smile in his voice. 

"Correct." 

"It's beautifully done, Stiles."

"Thank you." 

"This style... it's eerie. But fitting. An image that's not quite there but, somehow it is."

"I think that's a compliment, professor."

"It is. Good work. Are you starting another? It seems you enjoyed it." 

"Yes, I think I'm going to do a wolf."

"...interesting." Professor Deaton hums. 

"Hey, I heard a rumour that the owner of the gallery is coming back?"

"Hmm.. it seems that way. I believe it was inherited. That building has seen better days. Still worth restoring, I would think." 

"Do you think they will?"

"Hard to say. They may just be coming back to sell it."

Stiles humphs as he sits down. "Well, one can dream. It would be nice to have a campus art museum or something... Somewhere where we can display our work and host events. I think it could be really good for the program."

"I think you're right Stiles."

They chat a while longer about various topics, artists and stiles. He bids Professor Deaton farewell and rumages around for more materials.

Stiles hears Scott jump awake as he traces the lines of the wolf on his plexiglass plate with his fingertips. 

"Shit. What time is it?" He groans, the chair clattering as he stands up. 

"I dunno." 

"Oh God. I'm going to be late. I still need to change. You owe me!"

"I bought you pizza!" He shouts, Scott's quick footsteps receding from the building. He yawns loudly, stretching his arms above him. Twisting his spine and relishing in the pops and cracks he elicits. He wanders outside the building. The crisp morning air helps him clear the grogginess in his mind. He wanders to the neighboring coffeeshop. 

"How can I help you?" A young man's voice speaks upon Stiles's entering. Stiles folds his cane up as he reaches the counter.

"Something sweet, with a lot of caffeine."

"Sure. Long night? Or long day ahead?" The barista asks curiously.

"Both?"

He chuckles. _He has a nice laugh_, Stiles thinks. 

"You're in the printing program, aren't you?"

"I am. Stiles." He introduces himself. 

"Jackson. I've seen you around the arts building. I'm a painter."

"You're friends with Lydia. She's mentioned you. Apparently you're very talented." 

"I sure am. At more than just painting, too."

Stiles blushes. _He's flirting, right? _

"Are you coming to the party tonight?" Stiles inquires. Everyone that Lydia knew would be there and Lydia knew everyone. 

"Only if you'll be there." Jackson purrs.

"Then I guess you're going. How much do I owe you?"

"On the house." He presses the cup of coffee into Stiles's hand, who smiles. The warmth of the coffee matching the blush that has reached his cheeks and ears. 

"Thanks. See you around?" He pauses, "Well, you'll see me. I'll.. you know.." He gestures vaguely to his eyes as he reopens his cane.

"Bye, Stiles." Jackson laughs and Stiles nearly runs into the door.

"_Oh my God_." He whispers to himself. Lydia has definitely said Jackson was gorgeous. Was he flirting? He hopes he was flirting. 

Spirits high, Stiles practically skips back to the studio. He sips the coffee happily. It's strong, with lots of sweet caramel and chocolate to cut the bitterness. It's damn delicious.

He can hear Lydia's voice as he enters the studio. It's light and seductive, the way she talks to men. Specifically, men that weren't Stiles. 

"Yeah. I- uhh... I came back to look at the art again. I thought it was really nice." 

"Stiles is a great artist. Despite not being able to see. It's all done by... touch."

Stiles recognizes Derek's voice from the previous night.

"Speaking of, hey Stiles! This is Derek. He's new to town."

"We met." Derek states plainly. _Well aren't you just chipper?_ Stiles thinks.

"You just moved in to the building across from the coffee shop right?" Lydia inquires.

Derek grunts in what Stiles assumes to be a yes. _So, he is our neighbor._

"You're new to Beacon Hills?" 

"More or less." He grumbles. 

"Soo.. you don't have any friends?" 

"Is that an insult or a question?" His voice strained. 

"An observation." She chides. "You should come to my party."

"I'll pass." 

Lydia scoffes. It isn't often that she is turned down. He can hear her tone getting ready for a verbal attack.

Stiles intervenes, "Hey, Derek? We live in the same building, I think... Could you help me carry some stuff home?"

"I can do it." Lydia snaps. 

"Uhhhh.. professor Deaton said I could borrow the hand press." He lies, knowing full well that there's no way that her perfectly manicured little hands are going to carry a 100lb press three blocks to his house. She wouldn't risk a nail disaster before her party anyways. 

She sighs. "Fine. I'll see you tonight, Stiles." Her heels click angrily on the tile floor as she leaves 

Derek speaks in a low voice, "Which press?"

"I lied. No press. Just walk me home." Stiles reaches out and wrapped his arm around Derek's bicep, he gives the firm muscle a squeeze. 

"Oh God, you really do work out." Stiles blushes a little. Derek's whole body stiffens. He probably could have kept that comment to himself. "Soo, will you come to the party later?" 

Derek's voice is flat. "Are you mocking me?"

"No! I am definitely not. I am definitely not asking because I am definitely not going to be a third wheel at this party. And I'm definitely not inviting you because I thoroughly enjoy pretending that I don't know everyone is sucking face, just because I'm blind doesn't mean I'm stupid."

"...so are you inviting me or not?"

"I'm definitely inviting you." 

"Okay."

"Okay, so you'll come?"

"Sure."

"Really?"

Derek grumbles something that Stiles doesn't catch.

"You don't talk much, do you?"

"You talk a lot."

"Touché..." He says as they enter his apartment building. They walk along the hall until he knows he's close to his apartment. He finds a door and feels the metal numbers in the center of the door. 

He releases Derek's arm to find his house key, then feels around for the doorknob. Derek waits while he unlocks his front door, leaving to his own apartment as Stiles steps in the door.

"Pick me up at 7? I really only know how to get to the studio and to get coffee from here. This area is still new to me."

"Okay." He replies as he presumably stalks off to his own apartment. _Today is weird_, he thinks as he makes his way to the shower. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, busy day! I completely forgot to upload this morning. But here it is! I hope you enjoy! Thank you for all the kudos! You have no idea how much they motivate me. Also, please comment feedback, requests.. etc. I would love to hear what you all think!

**Derek**

_What _ _had he been thinking?_

He hadn't been. He just barely snuck away from Stiles before a bald man with chocolatey skin and a goatee approached. He smells of medicines, herbs, oak and... Derek growls, wolfsbane. 

Derek watches from nearby as the sleeping Stiles sobs, his scent becoming distressed. He lets out another low growl as the dark skinned man shakes Stiles's shoulder in an attempt to rouse him from his dream. Derek lays flat against the ground to keep out of sight, but near enough to lunge if needed. 

Stiles wakes with a cry, tears streaming down his neck and face. Derek whimpers softly, wishing to lick away the tears, to bring another soft smile to Stiles's lips as he had earlier. The light fingertips that scratched Derek's neck and ears had been dangerously addicting. He had leaned into the touch, craving more. Other than out of necessity, no one had touched Derek for almost 9 years. He hadn't allowed anyone to. He hadn't realized how badly he yearned for it. How easily he could become hooked on Stiles's touch. 

He paces around the building in his wolf form after the two men disappear inside. _What was his plan here? He couldn't possibly bring up Stiles's past. _

He watches Stiles through the tall, narrow window that peeks into the studio. It's the only window into the space and offers a limited view. He sees Stiles stand, stretching out his lithe body. His shirt raises over his stomach, revealing a small patch of hair below his belly button. He grabs his cane and heads out, walking down the street to the coffee shop. 

Derek slips behind a brick half wall on the side of the building to shift and dress. He knows he doesn't have long before Stiles returns. He creeps into the studio, closing the door softly behind him. He studio smells heavily of chemicals, inks and other students but underneath all that, is Stiles. 

He ventures over to where the print from last night lays on a drying rack. His fingertips brush the edges of the paper softly. He pulls them away as he remembers being scolded the previous night. 

A steady _click click click_ of heels interrupts Derek's thoughts as he lifts his eyes. 

"Stiles, are you in-Oh! Hello there." She smirks, her voice strings higher when she sees him. Derek tries to smile but ends up grimacing, before giving a polite nod and turning to walk away. "Excuse me, have we met?" 

"No."

"Lydia." She holds her hand out. "Are you a student here?"

"No." He repeats, ignoring her outstretched arm. 

"Did you just move here?" 

"Something like that." He growls in annoyance. 

"Do you know someone in the printmaking program? I know almost everyone in the school, I'm a photographer."

"Yeah. I- uhh... I came back to look at the art again. I thought it was really nice." Derek lies. He did think the art was nice, but he had come to see Stiles, maybe even talk to him.

"Stiles is a great artist. Despite not being able to see. It's all done by... touch." The girl reaches out and places her cold hand onto his forearm. He jerks away as he both hears and smells Stiles entering the room. 

"Speaking of.... hey Stiles! This is Derek. He's new... to town." She shoots him a pointed glare. 

"We met." Derek's ears itch. Her voice like nails on a chalkboard. 

"You just moved in to the building across from the coffee shop right?" 

Derek gives a small growl, a warning.

"You're new to Beacon Hills?" 

"More or less."

"Soo.. you don't have any friends?" 

"Is that an insult or a question?"

"An observation. You should come to my party."

"I'll pass." He practically snorts. _There's no way he's going to that party..._

He walks Stiles to his apartment. He almost laughs when he realizes that their apartments literally share a wall. He's been sleeping mere feet away from this man for weeks, maybe even months. _How hasn't he noticed? How didn't he see? Smell? Anything._

When 6:30 rolls around and he's dressed and twiddling his thumbs outside Stiles's door. He idly drags his hands over the frame and wall around it, absent mindedly scenting the hallway. It comforts him. It smells like him and Stiles.

He listens to Stiles pad around his apartment, his heart thrumming steadily. Derek shakes his head, realizing it's far too early and retreats back to his apartment. After about 10 minutes of pacing, he's back in the hallway. His senses remaining hyperfocused on the man next door. He grins as he listens to Stiles's murmuring. He waits until a few minutes before 7 to knock.

Stiles's shouts in surprise, "Holy Hannah! Come in, it's open. Is it 7 already?"

Stiles pulls a light sweater over his t-shirt that had the atomic symbol "Fe" on it with the word "man" underneath. Derek smirks as he enters the apartment. It's the exact layout as his, but reversed. Their bedrooms sharing a wall. Boxes are scattered along the hallway towards the bedrooms.

"You just moved in?"

"Nope, I just really like cardboard boxes."

Derek pauses for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing together. His confusion is quickly answered as the young man's poker face vanishes, replaced by a grin as he chortles. _A joke. Sarcasm. Right._

"I moved in this weekend. It's been slow going. Being so close to the studio is dangerous. I spend even more time there, than here. Which suits me fine because Allison still lives with her dad which means her and Scott always want to do the dirty over here. Let's just say if I wasn't already blind, I might have gouged out my own eyes by now. But other than that, I'm glad to be out on my own and-" he paused to take a deep breath, "...and yeah... What about you?" 

Derek shrugs. "I've been here a few weeks."

Stiles leg bounces sporadically as he sits down on the couch. "Uhhhh... So, do you want a drink? I think we still have some cheap vodka if you wanna pre game or I can-"

"I don't drink." Derek interrupts. 

"You _what?! Why?_ What? I'm fixing this. Let's go!" He exclaims, his hands flail around in front of him for only a second or two before he finds Derek's arm and grasps it firmly. "Lead the way, Noble steed." 

Derek rolls his eyes, too bad Stiles can't see it. 

They take the university shuttle to the West end of campus, where most of the fraternity and sorority houses are. Derek hears the music a while before the shuttle even stops. They follow the sound to Lydia's large house, slipping in through the gate to her backyard. There's a pool centered among her back patio and lights wind around the white pillars. 

Bodies bounce and sway to the music, some are splashing in the pool in their undergarments. All have some kind of beverage in their hands. 

"You." Stiles points a finger in Derek's general direction. "You are coming with me."

"I don't drink." He repeats. 

"It's never to early to start. Let us fill our bodies with garbage! You promised!"

"I promised to come to the party. I'm at the party."

"Bring us drinks or you will see a grown ass man throw a temper tantrum."

Derek sighs in defeat, knowing there's not much point in arguing. If he is going to refute anything, it should be the 'grown ass man' part of Stiles's threat. 

"Fine." 

"Thanks, stud muffin."

He internally snarls at the pet name, but retains his unwavering glare. Even though Stiles can't see it, he's pretty sure he can sense it. 

Stiles beams despite it as Derek stalks away to get drinks. He eyes the heavily spiked punch and grabs a bottle of water from one of the decorated tables instead. 

"Hello, again." A gripping voice speaks from across the table. The red head is impeccably dressed, not a hair out of place. Her voice smooth and alluring but also somehow holds a tone of authority. "I thought you had better places to be than my party, Derek."

Her throat punctuating his name harshly. Derek ignores her, pouring a plastic cup full of the rose colored punch. 

"See you around." She says, a smile spreading across her ruby red lips. His nostrils flare, picking up the scent of her overpowering perfume along with a twinge of arousal. He snorts, retreating back to Stiles. _As if. _

Stiles already managed to get his hands on a glass of the punch, his cup almost empty. 

Derek winces as Stiles drains the rest.

"Should you really be drinking?"

"Why shouldn't I?" 

Derek doesn't necessarily have a logically good reason so he just shrugs and hands Stiles another glass. It too is finished quickly, Derek sensing that this could be a precursor for the rest of the evening.

Derek presses a bottle of water in hands of a very inebriated Stiles.

"Drink."

Stiles scrunches up his face. 

"This..." He throws it backwards, clocking someone in the face with it. Derek hears them swear and shoots them a menacing glare as they trample towards Stiles. They pause, sizing Derek up. Ultimately, they decide it isn't worth it and walk away. Derek, however, remains tense. "...is not drink. That is unflavored sauce and it does absolutely nothing for me!"

"Stiles, you need to drink water."

"Hey! I am extremely hydrated today! I've peed like... seven times!" Stiles shouts at Derek who is raking his hand through his hair, frustrated. 

"Stiles..." He growls.

He groans, laying his head on Derek's shoulder and making a grabby motion with his hand. Derek reaches for another water, unscrewing it and handing it to Stiles. 

He guzzles it quickly, letting out a large belch after. He chuckles and grins, "My compliments to the chef."

Derek rolls his eyes but smiles fondly. 

"Hey." Stiles speaks softly now, the word more question-like than anything.

"Hey." Derek repeats, opening a new bottle of water for himself.

"Hey." Stiles sighs. There's a long pause. "So, you should ask me out on a date."

Derek almost sprays water out of his nose. He coughs violently as water pours into his trachea.

"Is that a no? Are you not gay? I was getting gay-vibes. My gaydar usually rocks."

Derek wishes he could say the thought hadn't crossed his mind. Stiles is beautiful. But he's also like family. If Stiles knew who Derek really was... There's no way he would still be interested. He was like a big brother to Stiles at one point. 

"Wait, Stiles... How old are you?" 

"I'm... almost 18... how old are you?" 

"I thought you said you just graduated!" Derek exclaims.

"I did! High school!" 

"Jesus, fuck, Stiles." He shakes his head. "Unbelievable." 

They sit in silence while the music and people around them buzz and dance. Stiles for once is quiet, his head still leaning on Derek's shoulder. Stiles shoots up after a minute, nearly falling off the stool. 

"Go get me more booze!" 

"I'm not getting you booze, you're like 12." 

"Then you're buying me pizza. I'm a slut for pizza." 

"I'll buy you pizza." He sighs.

"Pizza date?"

"Stiles, I can't take you on a date." Derek groans, raking his fingers through his hair and down his face. 

"Why not?!" He whines. "Now you're just being cruel. Is this because I'm a cripple? Are you picking on the cripple?"

"God. No, Stiles. It's because you're jailbait okay? You're 17!" 

"And you're hot."

"You can't say that."

"Can too. Scott told me."

"Scott thinks I'm hot?" Derek asks doubtfully.

"Scott described you to me and I think you're hot." 

"I'm not hot." 

"That's exactly what a hot person would say." 

Derek sighs with resign. "You're impossible." 

Stiles chuckles and closes his eyes, letting his head fall backwards, exposing his long, gorgeous neck. Derek leans forward, inhaling the sweet, earthy aroma. He jolts back as his fangs drop slightly. _What the hell?_

Stiles doesn't seem to notice, his eyes still closed, he sways to the music a bit. Derek thinks he hears a small snore over the music and he stifles a small chuckle.

It feels like it's just him and a drunk, half asleep Stiles right now, the bass just adding a deep thrumming in his heart. Faster than usual, but not aggressively. It's lively. Alive. He can barely wrap his head around it. Stiles is alive... and he's amazing. He's beautiful. He's creative. He's funny. He talks, too much even. 

He thinks back to when he begged to hear Stiles voice. Only being blessed with it a few short times, soft and sweet, almost song-like.

His voice had obviously grown deeper but it didn't rumble like his own. It was light, often times mumbling to himself quiet and soothing... Just like his scent. The thought makes Derek breathe in heavily, his nostrils inhaling deeply. With Stiles's neck exposed like this, the smell is so much stronger, deeper... Derek leans forward to press his nose into the scent that he so desperately wants to drown in...

"Stiles!"

"I'm up!" He shouts, his head snapping forward as he flails, trying not to loose balance. "Wha-?"

"I need you for a minute." Lydia scoops up his arm and shoots daggers at Derek. Suspicion. Confusion. Derek spends too much trying to decipher her expression as Stiles's is dragged away.

"Keep my seat warm, you sexy man, you." Derek is pretty sure he blushes at that one.

"Yeah, yeah that's great." She says dismissively as she leads him away from Derek and into the crowd.

Derek finds himself glancing at Stiles all too often as a kid around Stiles's age joins him and Lydia. He all but growls as he sees Stiles's smile, the other man talking into his ear. He huffs, turning away. Without the steady rhythm of Stiles's heart to distract him, his ears and nose become a slave to the overwhelming sounds and smells of those around him. Most are tainted with drunken arousal. 

He becomes a little lost in it. The salty sweat dripping from bodies around him. The sour scent of someone's vomit. The deep buzz of bass from the speakers and high pitched laughs from young women. Wallowing in an endless echo of others emotions, Derek drifts for a while. 

The putrid scent of gut-wrentching harrow fills the air, pulling him from his torpor. Derek's head whips toward the scent and he all but sprints towards it. He reaches the edge of the crowd, searching.

"Stiles..."

Derek's heart drops into his stomach when he sees Stiles curled up against the side of the house, hidden away in a dark corner and partially covered from the foliage hanging down over a large pot. 

"Stiles?"

There's a small whimper, a shuddering breath as his arms stop yanking at his hair in favor of scraping the skin on his forearms.

Derek firmly grasps his wrists, squatting down so he's eye-level with the man who seems so small, so child-like. This feels so familiar.

"Stiles, listen to my voice. You're here. You're here with me, Derek." 

"Oh God. Oh my God. Fuck fuck fuck. I can't breathe. Derek. _Fuck_!" He gasps. 

Impulsively, Derek presses his forehead to Stiles's. The damp skin feels cool on his hotter than average body. He breathes softly over the other man's mouth, their lips barely brushing.

"You can hear my voice. You can feel your heartbeat in your chest. Take your time." Derek pauses to release a wrist, placing his palm on Stiles's chest. 

"You can feel my hands. My forehead... my breath... I'm here. You're here. You're at Lydia's party. You're safe." 

Stiles's breath shudders but slows slightly, his heart still racing but at a reduced speed. He nods, squeezing Derek's forearm with his free hand. 

"I'm sorry... I just- I just-" 

Derek hushes him, reaching up to hold Stiles's face in his hands. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

They sit there for a moment, Derek's hands holding Stiles's face mere centimeters away from his. Their breath mingled, tempting and sweet. Stiles's shakey huffs steady, eventually slowing into even breathing. The fetid stench of fear and distress finally disappating. 

"How did you do that?" He asks.

"It's called grounding." 

"I know." There was a long pause. "But how did you know?" 

"I get them too." 

Stiles gives a small nod.

"Were... were you gonna kiss me?" The corner of his lip tugs into a telltale grin that fades far too quickly.

"No." Derek says quickly, almost defensive. 

"Yes you were."

"I wasn't.. I just, uh, holding your breath can sometimes stop panic attacks... I think I read it somewhere." 

"You could have just suffocated me." 

"I could have." 

Stiles grins a large, goofy grin.

"Let's get you home."

Stiles nods but stops smiling.

"Yeah."

They walk, Stiles's arm hooked in the crook of Derek's elbow. Derek can't help but to think about the 5 year old Stiles that was semi-permanently attached to Derek in the exact same manner. So much has changed, yet much of it feels the same. He takes comfort in the weight on his arm.

"Why do you want me to take you on a date?" His mouth talks before his brain can give permission. 

"Cause I've never been on one." Derek doesn't have a response for that one. "Nobody wants to date a cripple." He adds.

"That's not true." He argues as he leads Stiles into the apartment building.

"Obviously it is." He gave a small, sad chuckle. 

"Stiles, it's not. I-" He's outraged. _Who would ever give him an idea like that?_

"Anything you say right now is not going to make me feel better. Just so you know. Stop while you're ahead." He unlocks the door to his apartment and begins to close the door behind him. 

"Your birthday."

"What about it?"

"I'll take you on a date. On your birthday." 

Stiles pauses and gives a short nod, "Goodnight Derek."

Derek sighs, retreating to his own apartment. He picks up on Stiles getting ready for bed, the soft padding of his feet, the creak of his bed. He hears him rustling and moving on the mattress, he even let's himself pick up on Stiles steady heartbeat. He grins, stupidly and forces himself to the bathroom to brush his teeth. The water running washes out the sound of Stiles as Derek scrubs his mouth clean. As he turns off the faucet, he hears a groan come from the next apartment over. He skids into his bedroom, ears prickled, listening for sounds of distress. Stiles's heartbeat is racing. His feet braced to sprint next door. Derek's heart skips about three beats when he realizes it was a moan. A shudder rolls down his spine and straight to is groin when he hears a second one. He can't help but to stand there, frozen as he hears every sigh and rustle that comes from the other side of the wall.

A few sharp gasps, followed by a long drawn out groan lets Derek know that it's over. He can practically smell Stiles's release through the drywall. _What the hell is wrong with me?_ _This is a disaster waiting to happen,_ he thinks as he escapes to his very cold, but apparently not cold enough, shower. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Thanksgiving!
> 
> This chapter is coming a day early as a special treat for the poor folks who are stuck at the awful family get together and looking for something entertaining. I hope your day is moderately good and at the very least, there's some yummy food. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**Stiles**

Stiles wakes up feeling less hungover than he originally thought he would. His hand flops like a fish out of water over to the nightstand. He feels around, hoping he left a bottle of water there. He had. _Go drunk Stiles! You rock man!,_ he pep talks as he nurses the bottle. 

He rolls back over, stretching his entire body out. The stiffness from the night fades quickly as he pulls his muscles this way and that. He warms an XXL burrito in the microwave for his breakfast and hoovers it down with impressive gusto before leaving for the studio. The door to his left opens and closes nearby. 

"Derek? That you?"

"Morning." He confirms.

"Morning, dude. Thanks for helping me get home last night..." He blushes a little as he remembers the few blatant passes he made at Derek. Looking back, Derek hadn't seemed even remotely interested, but that usually wasn't something to stop Stiles from at least flirting. "Coffee? My treat." 

"Sure." Derek grunts, Stiles hears the keys jingle and a soft click, as he locks the deadbolt. Stiles holds out his hand, waiting for Derek to let him hook it in his elbow. Stiles can get from point A to point B on his own, but this is nice. It leaves his mind free to wander. 

"Lead the way." He says as Derek's arm rests gently under his hand. He smirks. "Sorry if I came on a little strong last night. I'm a lightweight."

A small hum is all Stiles receives in response. He carries a conversation with himself the entire way to the coffee shop, not that that's a record by any means. Once in 5th grade, he talked almost non-stop for an hour during their impromptu speeches. Eventually the teacher cut him off and gave him an A.

"Welcome to Beaners, can I take your order?" A female voice drawls as they enter, greeted by the aromatic smell of freshly brewed coffee. 

"Large, black. And something decaf for him." He mumbles. _Hah, decaf, what a jokester. _

"I got it." A smooth, familiar voice interrupts.

"Jackson? Mind whipping me up a cup of deliciousness comparable to my last visit?" Jackson chuckles and invites them to find a table, letting them know that he'll bring out their coffee shortly. He hears Derek sit in the chair across from him but neither of them speak. Stiles bounces in the chair, filling the silence with the rapid tapping of his fingers against the table until their coffee comes. 

"So, Stiles, did you give any thought to that job offer?" Jackson sets down their coffee. He lingers at the table, awaiting a response.

"Yeah, I don't know. I'm not sure I have the right... Uhh... Assets, so to speak." Stiles murmurs, he doesn't really want to talk about this in front of Derek. 

"What! You have a perfect body for it. I know Mr. Harris would be thrilled th-" 

"What kind of job exactly?" Derek's voice suddenly interrupts, it's low and very.... _growly_. 

"Just you know-" Stiles starts, _standing nakie in front of a room of students, no biggie. _

"Nude modeling." Jackson finishes. _Thanks_. "For the advanced drawing and painting course. Stiles has a perfect figure for it. I would be estatic to use him in some of my paintings. It's honestly my favorite class."

"Yeah, I'm sure it is..." He hears Derek grumble and he's pretty sure he hears a whispered "Pervert."

"I'll let you know, thanks." Stiles replies. Jackson says his goodbyes and goes back to work. 

"You're not seriously considering getting naked in front of a room of strangers are you?" Derek murmurs under his breath.

"It's not _that_ uncommon."

"You know some people just take that class to get their rocks off, right? I can only imagine what kind of perverts sign up for that class. Plus, you're underaged. Someone's going to take advantage of you."

"Someone like Jackson?" he questions sharply. 

"I didn't say Jackson."

"But you were thinking it. Look, it's my body. I can do what I want with it. Don't tell me what to do." His tone is firm, bordering on angry. He feels much more irritated about this than he should.

"Strip for a bunch of pedophiles then. Be my guest." His voice is surprisingly calm, hardly above a whisper. A huff of air escapes the other man as he stands, leaving Stiles alone in the coffee shop.

_What the actual fuck? Who is he to tell me what I can and can't __do?_ He thinks about the compliments Jackson had given him about his body at Lydia's party. He had run his hands down Stiles's arms and back. '_You're really pretty for a guy. You know that?_' he had said. Stiles doesn't 100% recall how he replied but he's pretty sure it was something along the lines of '_you're fucking gorgeous for a guy and I will happily let you get me naked!_' but, he wasn't sure. Maybe he just said thanks.

"What's with your friend?" Jackson asks. 

"He's more of an acquaintance.. I'll, uh, just take this to go actually." Stiles taps the side of his mug. Jackson pours it for him and secures a lid for him. 

"See you around?"

"Yeah, see you." Stiles nods and proceeds to more or less stomps the entire way to the studio. He whips out the plexiglass he had begun previously of the wolf.

A heavy _pat pat pat_ tells Stiles that someone's entered the room. He ignores it, scratching vigorously at his plexiglass. He's annoyed; the marks are deep and angry. 

"Who pissed in your cup?" his best friend's voice is unmistakable. As if his giant clunkers weren't a dead giveaway. He teased Scott on more than one occasion about how loudly he walked. Especially during the night time when he wasn't awake enough to actually lift his feet. 

"Not the Rangers." Stiles replies dryly. 

"That's a first." Scott chuckles. "But really. What's bugging you?"

Stiles stops mauling his plexiglass plate and sets his tools down. 

"I just... want people to stop treating me like someone that needs to be looked out for. I'm not a delicate fucking flower. I'm not a child." A threatening tingle in his nose almost brings tears to his eyes. He sniffles and blinks them away. 

"Derek?" Scott asks. Stiles grits his teeth a little. "I figured. You guys seemed pretty buddy buddy at Lydia's party. He was kind of stalking you. Lydia said she thought he was going to eat you at one point."

"Dude! Don't fuck with me, man. He made it pretty clear that he was a no-go on the homo."

"You're seriously like a queer Dr.Seuss, sometimes. But I don't know about no homo. He looked pretty homo with you. He didn't hit on you?"

"No. But Jackson did."

"Jackson? Like the one that works at the coffee shop?"

"Yeah. He's cute right? He sounds cute. Lydia thinks he's cute." 

"Gross. He's kinda creepy, man. Like in a closet freak kind of way." Scott groans.

"I can be a freak if thats what he likes!"

"Oh, grody. Stop talking!" 

He feels better after talking to Scott. He works for a while longer as they talk. They clean up and head home for lunch. As they walk down the hallway, Stiles lingers in front of Derek's door. He considers knocking. He fidgets with the ridges of the doors frame for a few moments before entering his own apartment. 

They eat a disturbing amount of food and Stiles is about to fall asleep on the couch when Scott starts banging around in the kitchen.

"Dude! How can you be hungry after that?!" 

Scott chuckles, "It's for practice, chill out."

"Oh. I'm on my own for dinner again?"

"Yeah, sorry man." 

Stiles shrugs, "no biggie." Cooking is definitely one of the more challenging things for Stiles. For reasons bigger than his blindness. Stiles cooking should come with a 'eat at your own risk' sign, unless it comes out of a box or bag. Maybe he'll go get a sandwich from the coffee shop. Then he can talk to Jackson again. He rolls of the couch and crawls to his feet. As he leaves his apartment, his fingers brush across Derek's door once again. 

It's warm outside, but there's a cool breeze coming in. Stiles wonders if it might rain later, smells like it might.

He wanders over to Beaners, unsure if he's hoping Jackson is there, or not. A sly, sultry voice greets him when he enters and he's not sure that he feels at ease. 

"Hey, what's on the menu?" He asks. 

"Well, I was hoping it would be you." Jackson teases. Stiles chuckles uncomfortably. "Let's see, looks like a chicken Waldorf wrap or black bean and avocado quesadilla." 

"I'll have a wrap, please. With fruit." He orders his meal to go and pays for it. As he's walking out, Jackson's footsteps follow him to the door. 

"It's my break time. Would you like to talk outside?"

"It's gonna rain, so maybe not." 

"How do you know that? That's incredible." 

"I can smell it and there's a cold breeze." 

"Wow, you're amazing, Stiles."

"Right, thanks." He accepts the compliment awkwardly. 

"I'd give anything to use you as my model for my paintings." 

"Yeah?"

"Absolutely."

Stiles squirms in the silence. "Well, I don't know. I'm... I'm not 18 yet. So I don't think your professor can hire me." 

"Hmm I suppose you're right. What if you just modeled for me? Of course, I'll keep it confidential if you wish."

"Well, if it's just you... Then maybe that will be okay."

"I won't tell a soul." He promises as he places a cool hand over Stiles's. 

"Right, yeah, I'll think on it." Stiles agrees. Jackson's says his goodbyes and leaves Stiles to head back inside. 

Knowing the rain is near, Stiles walks a little faster than he normally would dare. He's gotten pretty good at navigating the immediate area. He imagines there's dark clouds looming over him. He stumbles over something large and alive. It skitters out of the way as he trips but comes back to sniff at the bag of food in Stiles's hand. 

"Hey, you." Stiles greets the dog. He can tell it's him by his size and the feel of his coat. It must be him. "Where you been, old boy?"

The dog huffs and begins walking. Stiles gently places his hand on his haunches, letting the dog guide him. The dog leads him back to his apartment where he sits down under the awning of the entry way. Him and the dog sit in silence as the rain begins, his feet get a little wet but it doesn't bother him as he strokes the dogs fur. It's so thick, even as a summer coat. He must get warm. The large animal rubs it's muzzle roughly over Stiles's body. He spends much of his time sniffing and pressing his face into Stiles's palms, ridding them of any scent that isn't his it seems. Before long, it's time for them to part. Stiles feels guilty leaving the dog out in the rain but his wrap is calling his name ever so loudly from it's paper bag. 

"I'll see you soon, yeah?"

The dog grunts. Stiles imagines this means '_have a good night, Stiles. You're the best human ever_'. 

Stiles checks the mail as he enters the building and retreats down the hall. He startles as his name is spoken barely above a whisper as he begins to dig his key out from his pocket. 

"Sorry." Derek mumbles."I didn't mean to scare you." 

"You didn't." Stiles lies. 

"Okay?" It sounds more like a question than anything. 

"Okay." Stiles retorts. They stand there in silence. Stiles can hear Derek breathing a little heavier than usual through his nose. "So, bye then?" He begins jamming the key into the door.

"Wait." Derek's warm hand is placed on Stiles's upper arm. He considers shrugging it off, but it's so warm. It feels nice against his cool skin. "I'm sorry." 

"You're sorry?" 

"Yes. For earlier. I was out of line. It wasn't my place." 

Stiles considers his apology for a few moments. "Okay." 

"Okay..." Derek drops his hand. "Have a good night." 

"Thanks, you too... Derek." He adds his name last minute. He isn't sure why. It feels nice on his tongue. 

They fall into a strange routine, Stiles and Derek. They run into each other in the hallways often. It occasionally results in coffee, or Derek following Stiles to watch him work in the studio. He's almost done with his wolf prints. He thinks about the dog, he hasn't seen it recently. They avoid talking about Jackson or modeling. 

"You were talking about that old gallery a while back, right?" Derek asks out of the blue one day. 

"Uh, yeah. What about it?" 

"I- uhh.. I own.. it." 

"You what? You own it? What are you going to do with it?" Stiles rambles off questions rapidly. 

"I don't know." He pauses, "What would you do with it?" 

"What would I do with it? I would obviously turn it into a gallery again. Let the students display their art there. There's no where in this town for people to actually see art. An interactive room would be neat too. A place where people can view instillations!" Stiles words and ideas fall like vomit from his mouth. 

"Okay." Derek states simply.

"Okay?"

"Yeah. Okay. I'll turn it back into a gallery." Stiles for once, was speechless. His mouth gaped like a fish out of water. "Will you help me?" 

"Yes!" Stiles thinks he hears a small chuckle. "What do you need me to do?" 

"Hang your stuff in there when it opens." 

Stiles has to practically hold back tears. "Does the tin-man have a sheet metal cock? Uh yeah!"

Later that evening, Derek is hauling tools into the old, dusty building as Stiles drags his fingers over the tattered walls. He's almost vibrating with excitement. He can't wait to tell everyone. He should wait though, until Derek is ready. Yeah, their secret little project. He liked the sound of that. He stumbles over something and is caught by warm, firm muscles. 

"Oof." Stiles exclaims. "Thanks, big guy." He pats Derek on his arm as his waist is released. Derek mumbles something that Stiles doesn't quite catch. 

Stiles listens to an audiobook as Derek works on patching the walls, handing him nails and screws as Derek requests them. The whir of the drill and the thudding of the hammer are both exciting and calming all at once. They don't talk much. Well, Derek doesn't talk much. He listens as Stiles talks about both everything and nothing. 

The next day, Stiles is guided to a futon and desk. 

"For me?" He's actually touched. 

Derek grunts, "thought you'd like a place to work and if you get tired..." he trails off. 

"Thanks" Stiles beams, sitting down on the futon. It's not the comfiest thing ever but Stiles has slept on far worse. He feels around the desk, opening drawers and finding snacks and drinks inside. 

_Bzzzzzt! Bzzzzzt! _

"Yoooo, Padre!" Stiles answers the phone, sliding the drawer shut. 

"Stiles, where are you?" His dad sounds panicked.

"School, what's up?" 

"Are you alone? Where's Scott?" 

"You're freaking me out, what's going on?"

"Don't go anywhere. I'm coming to get you."

"Dad? What the hell?" He stands up, he can hear Derek walking over to him. "Tell me what's going on." 

"Someone's dead, Stiles. We don't know who or what did it." 

"What?" Stiles stomach drops. Beacon Hills is pretty small, there hasn't been a murder in over a decade. Not since... 

"Let's get you home, I'll walk with you." Derek mutters. Stiles doesn't realize he's shaking. 

"Yeah, okay. Dad? A friend going to walk me home. I'll call you when I get there." Stiles informs his dad who protests a bit but knows that he's needed elsewhere. He's the sheriff. They end the phone call and Derek grasps Stiles's hand, placing it in the crease of his arm. Tonight, Stiles is silent as they walk home. Derek leads him straight to his door, he stands close as Stiles unlocks and enters it. Pressing his ear to the door, Stiles doesn't hear him enter his own apartment. He's worried about Derek going out alone...

He patters out to the hallway and knocks on Derek's door. No answer. He definitely isn't home. Stiles doesn't know where to begin looking so he just goes back to his own room. He paces for a while, waiting to hear the gentle closing of his neighbor's door. Hours go by before he eventually stumbles out into the hallway. There's no answer after he raps on the door. Disappointed as well as concerned, makes his way to the gallery. 

Alone, he sits down on the futon and thinks about the woman who died. His dad hadn't given much details aside from it being a young woman who was intentionally murdered. There had been a few deaths over the years. Natural causes, accidents, even a suicide... But the last murder was mass slaughter. An entire family wiped out. 

Stiles loses himself in thought over the family he once knew. The youngest boy, in particular. He had been devestated to learn that the entire family had perished in a fire. Arson. He didn't remember much, he was so young. But when his father was in the hospital after his mother died, there wasn't anyone to take him. So the they did... it's not long before sleep overtakes him. 

"Stiles? Are you okay?" A rumbled whisper comes from behind. Stiles jerks fully awake. His heart hammers in his chest wildly.

"Yea..'mfine." He wipes away the tears he didn't realized had formed while he dreamt. Derek is lying next to him, his arm draped lightly over Stiles's hip. The air drifting in is cool, it feels like it's almost dawn. 

"Wha time issit?" Stiles mumbles as he stretches, his shirt rolling even higher up his stomach. He rubs the soft skin of his belly; he's hungry. His hand brushes Derek's, whose fingertips have splayed wide over his waist. The touch feels so warm on his skin, it almost burns. 

Derek grunts out a muffled, "Late."

Stiles shivers a little from the breeze, sliding back towards Derek's warmth. Large arms squeeze him a little closer and he feels safe. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg! This work is almost to 100 kudos, that's AMAZING! I'm so excited with where this piece is going... I hope you guys continue to love it as much as I do! Happy Holidays!

**Derek**

His senses are on high alert as he escorts Stiles back to his apartment. Something's wrong, he can feel it. Stiles has barely closed the door and Derek is out of the apartment complex and shifting, his clothes dropping off him behind some bushes near his bedroom window. He sprints through town in search of the crime scene. It isn't long before he's on the trail, air thick with blood and terror. The rank stench is hard to miss. It stings in his nose as he peers through the trees at the hoard of policemen and coroners. Derek picks out the Sheriff immediately, his scent and voice haven't changed much. His back is to Derek, talking with another officer and the coroner but Derek is certain. 

"I don't know what kind of animal could do this. A bear, maybe? But that doesn't explain the section that's been eaten." The coroner shakes his head sadly. 

"Thanks, Tom." The sheriff responds solemnly. 

The coroner nods as he zips the black bag shut. Derek doesn't see the girl, but the bag doesn't look like the shape of a whole body, if that's anything to go off. Derek knows exactly what did this. That's why he's so on edge. His fur is standing on end, teeth bared and ears forward.. because it could still be near. A rogue werewolf. 

He scurries back to the apartment to check on Stiles. He's practically glued against his bedroom wall listening. Silence, aside from the rapid pounding of his own heart. _Where is he? _Panic sets in as he rips his sweatpants from his closet and throws them on. He running through campus barefoot and shirtless, blindly following Stiles scent. 

He wants to sob in relief when he sees him curled up on the futon, shivering. Wishing he had the foresight to bring a blanket or jacket, he sits down on the futon next to him. It's then that he realizes that tears have formed in the corner of Stiles's eyes, dripping down one side of his cheek. 

His heart breaks a little as he brushes away the tears. Stiles startles a bit as Derek lays down beside him. 

"Stiles? Are you okay?" 

"Yeah, I'm fine." He manages groggily. Derek presses his hand to Stiles's forehead, gently rubbing the length of his eyebrow. They both begin to doze off.

Derek dreams he's walking through the woods. It's rained recently, the soil smells clean and full of life. The trees release contented scents of damp wood and crisp leaves. 

He doesn't wake so much as he just slowly realizes that he's no longer asleep. He nuzzles his nose closer to the pleasant smell, there's a pleased sigh that doesn't come from him. 

When he opens his eyes, he's staring at the back of Stiles's mole speckled neck. 

He shifts to his wolf form and pounces back up on the bed, snuffling at Stiles's ear. He nudges him a few more times as Stiles snores softly, his body limp. He sighs and curls up next to Stiles, breathing him in with heightened senses. He wants to bury himself in it. So he does. 

He wakes with his entire head in Stiles's underarm. Stiles's savor has not only surrounded him but also worn off onto him. He feels satisfied and calm with their scents mingled. 

"Derek?"

Derek gives a small groan to let Stiles know he's there. 

"Oh, hey boy. How did you get in here?" 

Derek accepts affectionate scratches as Stiles lays lazily alongside him. His eyes close and his body becoming increasingly pliable. Stiles moves him this way and that as he runs his hands over Derek's form, his fingers digging deep into his fur. Derek's mind wanders for a moment; he imagines Stiles running his hands over Derek's human skin. His fingers brushing lightly over his chest and stomach. He wonders what Stiles's lips would feel like on his shoulders and neck. Presumably soft and warm like the rest of him. His mind wanders dangerously, he abruptly flings himself from the bed, needing a distraction. 

He listens in on a boring conversation between students passing by outside as Stiles gathers his things. 

"Where did that asshat go anyways? Whatever. I'm starving. Let's go get some breakfast." He groans as he rubs his flat, speckled stomach. Derek pads out of the gallery after him and follows him to the coffee shop.

His tail flicks with annoyance as he watches Stiles and Jackson through the glass. He restrains himself from baring his teeth when Jackson glances his way. 

They're talking about the recent animal attacks in neighboring towns, each creeping closer than the last. Derek is more than aware of it. The rogue. He'll need to deal with that. He's not looking forward to it. 

"Stiles, is that your dog?" He asks. 

"No, he just kind of hangs around the area, I think. He's great."

"Right." Jackson mutters. "We should get together sometime. I'll be at the studio tonight, come see me."

"Yeah, sure." 

Derek let's a low growl slip out as Stiles bites his lip. They chat as Jackson readies Stiles's bagel and coffee. He darts back to the apartment and grabs some clothes. He returns, clothed and in his human form as Stiles is leaving the coffee shop. 

"Why do you hang around that sleeze ball?" 

Stiles jumps. "_Whatthefu_\- How did you _do_ that?!"

"Do what?" 

"Sneak up on me like that. I can usually hear the footsteps." 

Unsure of how to answer, Derek shrugs as if Stiles could see it. 

"And where did you go this morning? Thanks for waking me up. What if I had class?" 

"Did you have class?"

"Well.. no. But if I had!"

"But you didn't."

Stiles let's out a defeated sigh. "and Jackson isn't a sleeze ball. He's just being nice." 

Derek scoffs. 

"Not like you would know. Are you always such an asshole?"

"Yep." 

"Great..." Stiles grumbles as they walk towards the studio. "Why are you following me?" 

"Would you like me to leave?" 

".....No, it's fine." Stiles falls silent for the remainder of the walk. They reach the fine arts building and Stiles pulls out his prints.

Stiles works silently for a while, which is strangely out of character. His face softens and scrunches, the movement of his arms corresponding with his expressions. His gangly arms move with certainty, grazing over his work mesmerizingly effectively for someone who lacks vision. Derek watches him fondly from a nearby table, recalling those flitting fingers from his childhood. How they used to be so hesitant; afraid of exploring the world around him. 

_Stiles screamed in his bed, thrashing violently. "Mom, no! Please, Mommy! Help!" _

_Derek startled awake. For what seemed like the millionth time, his heart shattered for the small boy. He had been waking from terrors from the very first night he arrived. Derek climbed down from the top bunk, settling into bed next to Stiles. He laid like that next to him until he slowly came to consciousness. He dared not touch him until then. Stiles finally stilled. His breaths coming is rasps. Derek tentatively reached out his hand, pressing it to Stiles forehead. He jerked away and the tears began to flow freely. _

_"She didn't mean to. It was an accident." His voiced pleaded for Derek's confirmation._

_"Shhh.. I know." Derek knew the reality was much too hard to swallow. They laid there in silence for what could have been minutes or hours. He wasn't sure. _

_"What do you look like?" Stiles asked suddenly._

_"Uhhhh... I don't know. I have short brown hair and green-ish eyes?" _

_Stiles was quiet for a while longer again. _

_"Can I touch your face?" He whispered so quietly a person might not have heard him. But Derek did. So he pulled Stiles's palms up to his cheeks. Stiles shied away for a moment before he became comfortable enough to begin exploring the crevasses and mounds of Derek's face. He even ran his hands through his hair, it felt nice._

_"You can touch my face, too." The boy said, and so he did. He rubbed his eyebrows gently, causing Stiles's eyelids to become heavier and heavier, until he fell back into what Derek prayed was a dreamless sleep._

Derek's fingers flex in memory of his soft skin. The shape of his eyes, cheeks and lips. They remember the man more than the boy. The way his hips were pressed against Derek's the night before. He sighs, trying to push it from his mind. 

"What are you huffing about over there?" Stiles grumbles. 

"Nothing."

"You really are quite the conversationalist."

"Thanks." 

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Hey. Don't you still owe me beer?"

"No, I owe you pizza. As I recall, you are severely underaged."

"Only for another week." His one eyebrow raises as he smirks. 

"I'm talking about for drinking. And you'll still only be 18." Derek's teeth clench. Stiles sets down his tools and walks over to Derek, his hand gliding along the table to guide him. He stops at the occupied chair. His breath tickles the hairs on Derek's neck as he breaths down on him. 

"Stiles." Derek warns.

"Derek." His voice daring yet sweet. Arousal peaks through his calm scent, causing Derek to audibly gasp. He tries to breath through his mouth to avoid the scent as much as possible. Stiles hands come to Derek's face, tentatively but certain. His fingertips are rough, dry from the chemicals he uses on a daily basis. He drags them over Derek's eyes, nose and parted lips. Derek can't help but to stare at the furrowed brows of the man as he leans closer and closer until he is draped over Derek's lap. His thumbs rub over Derek's lips and he leans in, gently sucking at Derek's bottom lip. Derek jerks back, startled, but Stiles's mouth chases his down. He melts into the gentle, yet demanding kiss. It's inexperienced and innocent, sharing of lips and breaths; chaste without their tongues. 

Derek almost violently shoves Stiles backwards. 

"Dude, what is your deal?!" Stiles almost shouts.

"What do you mean?"

"Are you gay or not?" 

"Not."

"So why is a straight guy-"

"I'm not straight either." Derek cuts him off.

"So what are you?"

"I don't know?" 

"Whatever. You let me know when you figure it out, Derek." The last syllabal cuts harshly in the back of his throat. Derek grunts in return as he watches Stiles storms across the room, hastily working on a print.

Derek's phone rings a while later as the delivery arrives. He steps outside to accept the box of pizza. Stiles wanders over curiously, lured in by the savory aroma of cheese and garlic. 

"Did you order pizza?"

"No, must be from your secret admirer." He stated dryly. Stiles moaned with pleasure as he inhaled his first piece. Derek struggled with being both aroused and concerned. Those sounds shouldn't affect him like that. He knew he was treading in dangerous territory, both figuratively and literally. Stiles alternates between working and eating for a majority of the afternoon, Derek never far away. Stiles has side conversations with students and professors that pop their heads in or pass through the space.

It's not far off from dinner time when Stiles finally stretches and begins to clean up. 

"Are you going to go work on the gallery?" Stiles asks. 

Derek shrugs and grunts out an "I don't know", but they end up at the gallery anyways. Stiles takes up the futon which is still folded out into a bed. He lays propped up on his elbows, his neck slack with his head dangling back. Derek is practically salivating at the exposed glands on his neck. He wants to bury himself in them, lick them, bite th- _No_. He shocks himself a little with that last thought. _Absolutely not. No._

The guilt slams into his chest like a horned bull, stabbing him in the stomach. The full moon must be close. He doesn't usually have these kinds of impulses. He'll need to be extra careful this full moon and keep himself far away from Stiles.

"You should go home." He almost growls out. It's taking a lot of self control not to lash out. _Get away from me. I'm not safe for you. _

Stiles's head pops up, his expression confused... Maybe even hurt? "What? Why?" He asks, his voiced almost sounds panicked. 

Derek audibly growls this time, in frustration. Because he doesn't have a good reason, not one he could tell Stiles. 

"You know, I don't fucking get you, man. You'll lay next to me and spoon me all night but you won't kiss me. You spend all day with me but you won't fucking talk to me. What do you want?!"

"Nothing! I don't _know_!" Derek shouts. Stiles face screws up, but he stands and marches over to Derek. His hands reach out to find Derek. They make contact with Derek's forearm first, sliding up and down his biceps. Stiles bits his lip, his golden eyes unfixed and half hidden by his long lashes. One of his hands reach up, sliding along Derek's shoulder, chest and neck. It finds its way to his lower lip and Derek does what he does best. He runs, pushing him away and tearing out into the night. His clothes slipping from his body as he sprints to the preserve that surrounds the town. He runs blindly through the trees and dirt until he skids to a stop in front of the burnt remains of his family and past. The smoke stains the air as if it was still burning. The screams of his family ring in his ears. He collapses, curled up beside what used to be the deck where he, Stiles and his mother spent so much time. The sweet memories like ash in his mouth.

The sun is setting as he finally makes his way back. He's very aware of the scent of Stiles as he nears his apartment. It lingers in the hall, seeping out from under the apartment door next to his. It clings to his skin where he was pressed against Stiles from the night before, his arms wrapped around his body. He enters his apartment.

He has an internal war with himself about washing the scent off. He enjoys it just a little too much, doesn't feel he deserves to have Stiles's scent glued to him like this. Its dangerous and is becoming increasingly addicting. Scott is playing video games next door, Stiles doesn't seem to be home. Derek can't hear his heart. 

He sighs, resolving to tell Stiles who he is. He needs to know. He needs to know why they can't be together. It isn't fair to Stiles to keep it from him. Once he knows, he'll understand. Derek only worries that Stiles might reject him completely. He reluctantly pulls on clothes and shoes to head out for a run. The running itself isn't what calms him, he could tear through this city in a few minutes on high speed and not feel worn. Instead, he focuses on his pace. Making him feel more human. He focuses more on the timing between his feet hitting the pavement than the scents he passes. The rhythm drowns out the buzzing noises that he hears up to a mile in any direction. He runs full circle until he's nearing his apartment again when he smells Stiles. 

He follows the drug-like scent through campus. Some areas stronger than others. He trails it to Stiles's studio, expecting to find him there, but he doesn't. He wanders to a small room that's tucked away in a narrow hallway. He pauses outside the door. 

"You're incredibly beautiful Stiles, let me take pictures of you."

Stiles lets out a strained, nervous laugh, "No, I don't think so." 

"Aw, come on Stiles. Strictly for my use only, of course." Derek keeps himself from plowing through the door right then and there. He hears rustling fabric. He knows on the other side of this door is a potentially naked Stiles. He's not sure whether that prevents him from barging in any at all. 

"I think I should get going, Scott wanted to meet up soon." 

"Stay Stiles, I'm not done drawing yet."

"We can meet up again later, no biggie." Stiles heart is hammering, he's lying. He's scared. Derek can smell it. 

"Come on Stiles, don't be like that." Jackson's words are dripping like slime on a wall. It makes the hair stand up on Derek's neck. He hears foot steps moving across the room. _Stiles? No. Not Stiles. _

"Jackson, let go of me." 

"You're just so sexy. I'm going to take some photos, if you could see them, you'd understand." 

"He said let go." Derek seethes as he opens the door. His fist and teeth are clenched. 

"Hey! Dude! What the hell?" Stiles pulls a plush white robe over his body. Jackson has a hold of his wrist. 

"I won't ask again." He nods towards where Jackson is squeezing Stiles's arm.

Jackson releases him and looks Derek up and down. 

"And you are?" 

"Stiles, I'll walk you home." 

"I don't need you to walk me home." Stiles spats. His blush reaches from his ears to his chest, the robe pulled half haphazardly around him. He turns his body away from them both. Derek can't help but state at the beauty marks that speckle his back and shoulders. 

"Derek, right?" Jackson all but purrs. Derek glances down, seeing the phone in his hands, his photo album open. He snatches it, eyes locking on a blurry, but naked photograph of Stiles.

"Hey!" Jackson tries to take it back. Derek's free hand flies up and grabs Jackson's neck. He speaks softly into his ear "You ever come fucking near Stiles again and I'll rip out your throat."

He deletes the photo, perhaps looking at the photos a half a moment too long. He crams the phone back into Jackson's hands who is scowling. 

"Stiles, let's go." Derek grits through his teeth. "Now. And you. Get out."

Jackson looks as though he might retaliate but decides against it. Smart choice, Derek thinks. 

"Stiles, can we meet up again?" Jackson speaks over Derek's shoulder, but their eyes are locked and daring. 

"No." Derek's eyes glare down at him. He menaces as he backs Jackson out the door and slams it in his face. He braces his arms against the door, afraid to turn around.

_Damnit_. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiiiii! I can't believe it! This work has over 100 Kudos. THANK YOU THANK YOU! You guys are the reason I write. I hope to continue to get feedback, it's amazing. My absolute favorite is comments. I love hearing what you guys think and respond to! 
> 
> Happy Holidays, if you celebrate.

**Stiles**

  
"Dude, what is your fucking problem?!" He shouts as the door is slammed.  
"You're my problem!" Derek growls back. Stiles scoffs.  
"I didn't do anything wrong. You're not my boyfriend. You're barely my friend!" He hastily pulls his clothes on, hoping the robe is protecting some of his virtue.   
"Stiles." His voice sounds flat, almost warning.   
"No, _you_ fucking listen. Stop fucking with me! Stop acting like you're my knight in shining armor. Because I'm not a princess _or_ your fucking charity case! Sue me for finding someone who is interested!" Stiles blinks back tears of frustration, now isn't the time for crying. He's angry.   
A low growl purrs in Stiles's ear as he's pushed backwards into the brick wall. One hand grips the back of his neck with a firm squeeze, the other bruises his hip as it digs into the soft flesh around his hip bone. Stiles's breath leaves him as his back hits the wall, turning his head away. There's no way he isn't blushing. He'd let Derek manhandle him into next week if he wants. But that's the problem, Derek doesn't want. His hands are so hot against Stiles skin, a sharp contrast to the cool brick; they send waves of heat down his spine. He shutters with sudden arousal. 

Stiles can hear a deep, breathy exhale as Derek releases him. It takes a lot more effort than usual to convince his knees to keep him standing. Stiles tries not to let his breathing become too erratic.  
"Fucker."  
He stomps away as fast as he feels comfortable, still needing to feel around for moved furniture. A notice was put up about leaving furniture in the same spots but apparently the rest of the students here are also fucking blind or can't read.  
"Idiots." He grumbles as he bumps into a table, bruising his thigh.   
He can hear Derek's light footsteps following behind him. A hand seizes his wrists, holding him back. Hot breath on the back of his neck causes all his muscles to tense, yet his body somehow also feels like a wet, limp noodle. He wants to just melt into the large, firm muscles he knows are an inch from being pressed down his entire backside.   
"Listen, Stiles. I'm not going to lie to you, just to get you naked. I won't tell you what to do anymore, but I'm also not going idly stand by while you let people use you like that. So what's it going to be?", he growls in Stiles's ear. He releases his wrists with the final word.   
Stiles usual snarky comments have left him as he nods silently, not realizing that it wasn't a yes or no question. He stays rooted on the spot as he hears Derek's footsteps recede and all he can think is that he hopes no one is watching too closely because he definitely has a boner. A big, massive, I-want-Derek boner.   
He stops by Derek's apartment on his way home. He knocks, no answer. He sighs and makes his way to his room. Maybe he thinks of Derek while he takes care of the erection he's had since he left the studio. Maybe he whimpers out Derek's name as he loses his load for the second time. Maybe. 

Stiles reluctantly enters the coffee shop. The aromatic air is warm and inviting.   
"Good morning, welcome to Beaners!" A cheery female voice comes from the counter. Stiles orders his coffee, both somehow grateful and disappointed that Jackson isn't working. He feels obligated to at least apologize for the previous night.

"2.49, please! I'll be right back with your coffee."   
Her footsteps recede and the espresso machine hisses. Stiles digs out the appropriate change, plus a little extra for a tip and lays it on the counter. He fidgets with his wallet while he waits.   
"Is Jackson in today?" He asks.  
"Hmm, no I think it's his day off. Pretty sure he's got class today."   
"Thanks."   
Stiles nurses his coffee and heads to the studio. His wolf plate is complete, just needs to be printed. Stiles will have to wait for that since Scott has been busy with his own stuff, Allison and lacrosse included. He considers asking Lydia but she can be difficult to work with, heaven forbid she gets ink on her perfectly manicured nails or new shirt. He sighs.   
"Hey, Stiles." A honeyed voice spoke from across the room. "I was hoping to see you today."   
"Oh. Hi, Jackson. I was too, actually, I wanted to say sorry you know, for the brooding caveman."   
"Water under the bridge. Is he always so... protective?"  
"Uhh, I'm not sure?"   
"Hm. Well, I suppose I can't blame him. You're the kind of guy that everyone wants to snatch up."   
"I doubt that."   
"Oh, Stiles." A hand lays across Stiles's lower back, pulling Stiles closer to Jackson. "You're really cute. I've been wanting to kiss you since Lydia's party. Can I?"  
Stiles freezes. His hands clench his carving tool tightly. He can't answer. Jackson's hands creep around his waist, turning him and pulling him closer. His entire body goes stiff as cold fingers caress his chin, pulling him closer. He can smell Jackson's breath, coffee and peppermint. Pulse racing, Stiles finds himself holding his breath.   
He shoves Jackson away and turns back to his work. Blood rushes to his cheeks and ears, he can feel them burning.   
"Sorry." He murmurs.  
"Sorry? You know what? Forget it. You won't ever find someone as good as me. Too bad you're literally blind or you might see it too. Maybe being blind isn't such a bad thing, huh? Inner beauty and all that?" He snides as he whisks out of the room. 

It feels like a hot knife has been inserted into Stiles's stomach. The words slicing through his self confidence like it's a real, tangible part of him. His hands shake as he sets down his tools, abandoning his work in the studio.  
His sunglasses provide a veil, concealing his tears as he runs to the one place he's always felt welcome. He curls up on the futon, imagining Derek's arms around him once again. He cries until he runs out of tears. The sobbing stops, his breathing returns to normal and listens to the people that pass by. 

"Stiles?" Derek's voice is tender. Stiles slowly rouses to consciousness, stretching out on the futon. Cool air hits his sides and stomach, making him shiver. It must be evening already.  
"I'm fine." Stiles rubs away the sleep and dried tears.   
"You don't look fine. What happened?"  
"None of your goddamn business, alright?" His anger rising again. He had almost forgotten he was angry with Derek, immediately comforted by his presence instead.  
"Okay." Derek sits next to him. It's so warm there, where Stiles's thigh is lightly pressed against Derek's. Cozy, even. Stiles leans against Derek, savoring the warmth. He fights the need to fill the silence, fidgeting in the seat.  
"I'm sorry" Stiles finally spits out. Derek hums in response. "I just.. I'm so sick, of people.. treating me the way they treat me. And I just-"   
A warm, gentle hand wraps around his. It pulls him closer, his shoulder coming to rest on Derek's chest.   
"I'm sorry, too. You can look out for yourself. I shouldn't have done what I did."   
"Apparently, I can't..." His skips a beat, the larger hand squeezes softly. He sighs. They sit in silence for a long time. Derek is rubs his jaw on Stiles neck and it tickles. At some point, Derek leaned almost all the way back, pulling Stiles down with him. Stiles squirms against Derek's strong arms. His warmth is seeping through both of their layers of clothing, warming Stiles. He feel droopy, drunk with the physical affection. He lets Derek run his hands over his scalp and arms. It feels nice, sending tingles down his spine.  
"Hey, uhhh.. wanna come over and watch a movie.. or something?" He's banking on the 'something' part of that question.

"Okay." Derek agrees.  
"Okay." He hums and whistles a few songs as they walk back to their apartment complex. He forgets how the songs go halfway through and starts a new one. Lydia once called his whistling mash-ups 'neurotic', but that wasn't about to stop him. His heart is about to jump out of his throat as he fidgets with the key in his door. Almost immediately upon entering, Stiles spins around and backs Derek into the door as it clicks shut. He finds the man's large hands, linking their fingers together again. He rests his head on Derek's shoulder gently.   
"Kiss me." His voice almost breaks.  
"Why?" The word feels clenched. Like it's being spoken from between his teeth.  
"Because I want you to fucking kiss me, alright?!" Stiles drags him, _(okay, leads him because let's be real...) _over to the living room. He shoves Derek back into the couch, a brilliant idea for someone half the body weight and strength. He's pissed and a little hurt, _why do I have to have a reason to want someone to kiss me?_ He thinks for a moment that Derek's going to tell him no, at any minute he might say "_you're not my type/I don't like you like that/you're nice but... But you're blind"._

Derek grips the front of Stiles's shirt, yanking him forward. His hips crash against the other mans and all the built up tension between them, it explodes. Their mouths find each other in a flurry of lips, tongues and teeth. Their hands firmly touch the others skin, yanking clothes away for better access. Stiles's heart feels like it's going to break his ribs, it's beating so fast and so loud.

Stiles is more than familiar with Derek's arms as he leads him safely from place to place during their everyday. But feeling them now, in this way... it's different. They feel stronger. Still guiding him safely to where he needs to be as they grip and tug with desire.  
As quickly as it began, Derek is pulling away. His hands retract from underneath Stiles's shirt, his mouth breathing jaggedly against Stiles's cheek. Stiles turns his head, searching for those warm, addicting lips again.   
"Stiles. Stop. We should stop."   
"I'm not good at doing things I should." He reaches for Derek again, trying to pull him back in. He feels Derek push him away at arm's length, his hands wrapped firmly around his waist.

"Seriously?!" Stiles protests.  
He hears Derek grunt; he assumes that means 'yes I'm serious' and that kind of pops Stiles's I-might-finally-hit-second-base balloon. _Bummer, Betty. _  
"Listen, Stiles, I-.." he huffs, hesitating. Stiles waits patiently. Scott and Allison giggle in the hallway and the door clicks open. Derek sighs and speaks low into Stiles ear, "Let's talk tomorrow." His forehead rests against Stiles's for a moment, then he's gone and out the door.   
"Oh, hey Derek!" Scott's friendly voice carries into the apartment. "This is my girlfriend, Allison."   
"Nice to meet you." Derek's voice grits out. Stiles hears a door immediately slam shut.   
"He's friendly." Allison remarks.   
"Yeah... What's up with him?" Scott asks, offended.  
"I dunno. He was fine before you got here. I mean, aside from the blue balls."  
"Gross, Stiles."  
He chuckles.  
"So are you guys like dating?" Allison asks.   
"Nope, he's not interested." Scott snorts behind him. "What?! He's not!"   
"That's a lie and you know it." Sarcasm floods Scott's voice.   
Stiles sighs heavily, "I don't get him! He's so... grunty. It's hard to get anything out of him. He gets pissy and then he gets kissy and then he gets pissy again."   
"You guys kissed? That's so sweet!" Allison coos.   
"Yeah, adorable. Except little Stiles really would like to experience more than a hot makeout sesh, not that I don't love a good snogging but come on!"   
"Aw, Stiles," Allison pats his shoulder, "it's worth it to wait for the right person for your first time. Trust me."   
"Yeah, yeah," he shrugs off her hand, "so why are you guys back so soon?"   
"My aunt is coming to town and Scott here needs a wardrobe change. He looks like you dressed him." Allison teases.   
"Hey! This matches!" Scott defends himself.

Stiles is both giddy and anxious as he gets into bed. He tosses and turns, thinking about Derek kisses. He may be broody and quiet, but he had a certain charm. He feels strong, safe and warm. In a way, he felt like home. He couldn't get a good read on him. Drifting into sleep, Stiles wonder what it'll take to break down the wall that was built up around Derek. What happened to him that he doesn't trust me?  
Stiles dreams of fire that night. Not so much the sight of it... No, he doesn't really remember. Smoke seems to fill his lungs, crackling and screams startle him awake.   
"Stiles? Buddy you okay?" Scotts voice whispers softly.  
"Yeah." He answers as he wipes at his wet cheeks.   
"Okay. You were screaming again. Was it your mom?"   
"Not this time."  
"Wanna talk about it, man?"  
"Nah, I'm tired. Go back to sleep. Love ya."   
"Love ya" Scott whispers as he closes the door with a soft click.   
He thinks back and remembers when his dad came into his room when he was about 10. He told him that the entire family that he had lived with died in a fire. Stiles hadn't cried that hard since his mom died. Tears welled in his eyes again, daring to drip down his face. He weeps for the second family he once had, weeps for the boy whose life had only just began, weeps for the friend he lost. The boy with the rough hands and a gentle heart. 

He wakes feeling unrested and drowsy. He lounges in his bed for a while, dozing off until around noon. He stumbles to the bathroom and undresses for his shower. The warm water runs down his neck and back as he runs his fingers through his hair. Lost in empty thought, Stiles stands in the stream until it begins to run cold. He rushes through the rest of his shower routine just as the water turns to ice.   
Derek's door opens as he walks by.   
"Morning!" Stiles chirps. "Coffee?"  
Derek grunts and Stiles hears the latch click, locking the door. A warm, firm arm slides into place over Stiles arm. He wants to snuggle in close and lose himself in it. They walk to the coffee shop. There's a clatter of dishes and murmur of students. Stiles takes in a deep breath of the fragrant air of the room.   
Derek stiffens and jerks to a stop a few steps in. Huffing, he continues to the counter.   
"Stiles, Derek. What can I get you?" Jackson's mock friendliness is sickening.   
"Coffee, black. Stiles?"   
He can hardly bring himself to speak as the invisible knife cut through him for a second time. He stammers out his order, turning away. His feet ache to run away.  
".. Stiles." Derek's voice breaks through. It sounds like he's said his name more than once, concerned.  
"Yeah, I'm fine." He pauses for a moment, reaching to press his palm to Derek's cheek. He leans in to kiss him softly.   
"Why did you do that?" Derek asks, he doesn't sound upset, just genuinely curious. Perhaps even pleased.   
"Pure spite." Stiles answers, reaching over to grasp Derek's large, warm hand. They walk like this to the gallery. Once inside, Stiles kisses Derek again.   
"Maybe not pure spite, I also just wanted to."   
Derek sighs, a deep heavy sigh.   
"Just... for this one time, can you just forget whatever it is and let yourself like me? Please." He almost begs. He feels Derek fidget and drags his fingers lightly across the skin that feels almost feverish. Stiles wants to melt into it. Derek tenses as Stiles's body inches closer, his hips grazing against each other. Stiles presses gently on Derek's chest, he lets Stiles push him until his back is flush with the wall. Stiles hears him exhale deeply, the hot breath tickling his neck and ear.   
"Derek?" He asks tenderly, afraid to break the silence. Derek responds with one of his habitual grunts.   
"Can I... Can I touch your face?"  
Somehow Derek manages to stiffen his muscles even more, Stiles can feel his abs drawn taunt under his hands. It feels lovely, by the way. He has to clench Derek's shirt in order to keep him from sliding his hands underneath to touch their bare skin.   
Derek clears his throat softly, then lets out a whispered consent. Stiles releases the fabric over Derek's stomach and slides his hands slowly up his chest, pausing when he reaches the stubble on Derek's neck. He splays his hands out, feeling his strong jaws and neck. He slowly moves from feature to feature, he runs his fingers through Derek's hair, it's long enough for Stiles to run his fingers through and grip tightly if he wanted, and _oh_, did he want to. He traces Derek's thick eyebrows and lightly brushes his fingertips against his eyes and long eyelashes. He wonders what color his eyes are. His fingers continue their steady wandering across his high cheekbones and narrow nose. All his features seem sharp, cutting, clearly defined, aside from his lips. Theyre soft and malleable as he drags his thumb across them. Derek presses his cheek into Stiles's palm and his lips part. Stiles decides to take the risk, reaching up until his lips reach Derek's.   
"Stiles." There's something in his voice that Stiles can't quite make out. It sounds, sad. No, not sad. Desperate.   
"Derek." He returns, their breath mingling and enticing. "Please. Stop running away from me."  
Stiles can almost hear Derek's resolve snap as he pulls Stiles close, wrapping one hand around his waist and the other cupping his chin. He sighs and finally surrenders.  
They kiss softly at first, learning each other's mouths and bodies. Stiles finds very quickly that Derek has an incredibly sensitive neck; he shudders whenever Stiles's lips pass over it. Derek leads him to the futon, he can hear the rustle of papers being carefully gathered and placed on the floor. Derek sits, pulling Stiles next to him. He hesitates, his hand almost shaking on Stiles's thigh.   
"I'm not having sex with you." He sounds like he's informing himself more than Stiles.   
"No. Of course you're not." Stiles does his best not to sound offended, but he is. It's hard not to feel like he's being toyed with. He stands.  
"Wait." A hand snatches his. "I just.. you're so.." he let's out a long sigh, his forehead coming to rest on their connected hands. "I don't want you to feel like I'm taking advantage of you.. or forcing you."  
"Derek, if anything, I'm taking advantage of you. So shut up. Shut up and stop running away from this."   
Derek gives a small grunt as he pulled Stiles back to him. This time, Stiles straddles his lap, he'll take the lead if Derek won't.   
He grips the hem of Derek's shirt and pulls it up over his head. It drops to the floor with a soft thud. Stiles can't get enough of the hard, warm flesh beneath him. It's almost embarrassing to feel Derek's hands on his thin and undefined stomach. Their hands tremble as they explore, a little more heated and purposefully. Derek doesn't give more than chaste kisses on Stiles mouth and body, his hands never stray below his waist. Stiles bites Derek's lip, a little harder than intended, and yanks at the top button of Derek's pants. The man underneath him startles and freezes as Stiles pulls down his zipper and runs his hand over the abnormally large buldge. Derek's hands grasp Stiles wrists, not pulling them away, but also not letting him continue.  
"Derek?" he breath coming in pants already. Derek answers with a small roll of his hips against Stiles, causing them both to gasp. He releases Stiles's wrists, his arms wrapping tightly around Stiles.  
"Stiles, I need to tell you something."   
"It can wait." Stiles mumbles against Derek's lips.   
"It ca-" Derek groans as Stiles latches onto his neck, sucking hard on his skin. "Can't."   
The words are lost on Stiles's ears as his fingers entwine in Derek's hair. His hips rock against Derek's desperately.  
"Oh God." He groans and nuzzles into the nook of Derek's shoulder. Strong hands slide up his thighs, coming to rest on his ass. They squeeze and massage, pulling him impossibly closer. He can feel the heat rushing to his neck and chest, the blush spreading much farther than his face.   
"Stiles." Derek sighs softly, his head coming to rest on Stiles's chest. "Hale."  
Stiles's hips stutter and halt. "What did you just say?"  
"Hale. My last name .... is Hale."   
Stiles's blood runs cold. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys, I'm super sorry I didn't get to this chapter on time. I'm struggling with some real life stuff and it definitely affected my writing and creativity these past few weeks. That being said, I would super appreciate any comments to boost my morale and get me motivated. I adore you guys and love conversing with other Sterek fans ❤️
> 
> This chapter is a little on the shorter side, I hope there isn't too many errors. Happy New Year! 
> 
> Warning for slight gore in this chapter.

**Derek**

"...You lied to me?" Stiles pushes him away, taking shakey steps back.

His words have a crushing weight to them. Betrayal. Disgust. Hurt. 

"I'm sorry. I- .. I never meant to deceive you." Derek almost begs, willing his voice to convey his regrets. 

The Stiles stands no more than 5 feet away from Derek, yet somehow is completely unreachable. He watches as Stiles fans out his long, dexterious fingers before clenching them into tight fists. 

"All this time...." 

"I know." Derek's voice trembles, his hand reaches out involuntary before clutching and hanging back at his side, trembling. He wants nothing more than to reach out, to comfort, to please, to touch. This is what he deserves for believing for even a second that they could have something... something that even resembled normal. He had been delusional to say the least. The crushing reality ripped a hole deep inside him. 

"I never thought... I could have never hoped-" He said as he turns around, tears streaming down the sides of his face. "...it's really you." Stiles's hand comes up to caress Derek's cheek. 

"It's really me." Derek smiles a moment too soon, as a hard fist collides with his cheekbone. He stumbles back a few steps, eyes wide with disbelief. It didn't particularly hurt, but surprised him. "You hit me!"

"Yeah I fucking hit you!" He yells an impressive string of obscenities as he flails his fist out in front of him. 

Derek swiftly ducks as a hand flies over his head from the right. He reaches up to grab the man's thrashing wrists, spinning him around and pulling him into a tight bear hug. He could almost laugh, holding on so tight to someone who is bound to hate him now. 

"I'm sorry. I couldn't-" Derek whispers into Stiles's shoulder. Stiles stops fighting, going limp in Derek's embrace. "There's so much to tell you." 

"So just tell me."

Derek does laugh this time. "I wish it was that easy." 

"Why isn't it?" 

He sighs, nuzzling closer to Stiles, ignoring the question. As if the world might end any minute, he soaks in Stiles's scent, breathing it in through his mouth and nostrils. It floods his senses and he feels calm. 

"Derek. What happened to you? What happened to everyone? You _died_." 

"I didn't. I ran."

"I don't understand."

"It... It wasn't an accident." Derek hears Stiles audibly gasp.

"Oh my God. Derek. I'm so sorry." Stiles squeezes his hand tight. For a moment, Derek almost feels the weight of his family's death lift for a moment. Like Stiles is sharing the load, if only for a moment, allowing the grief that he never allowed himself to seep through. "Did.... Did anyone else..?" 

"No." Derek takes the weight back, reclaiming it as his own. Letting it close on the emotions that attempt to escape. "I'm the only one."

"Where did you go?"

"I honestly don't even remember. I was alone for a long time." 

"Jesus.. Derek. I don't know what to say."

"Nothing to say."

"It feels like a dream. Like you're not really you." Stiles reaches up to trace his hands over Derek's face again, making out his features. Derek could almost pretend that the affection was just that, not pity. 

"Now you know why we can't be together." Derek resolves. 

"I thought it was because I'm jailbait?" Stiles smirks. 

"That too." He almost chuckles.

"Do you..." Stiles voice pauses for a moment, his smile fades, "Oh, I see."

Derek can't respond. He wants nothing more than to scoop Stiles up and bring a smile back to his face. A bitter scent floods his nose, it's coming from Stiles. He can't quite place the emotion. 

"I'm sorry." He offers an apology, though he knows it couldn't possibly mean anything to Stiles. 

"Yeah. Me too." Stiles's voice breaks as he pushes away from Derek for the second time. Derek lets him, and then he lets him walk out the door. Derek wants nothing more than to chase him down and beg for Stiles to be his. But he can't. 

He knows Stiles deserves more than half answers, and a broken lover with hundreds of people's blood on his hands. Derek was the reason Stiles lost his eyesight. Derek was the reason his mother died. Derek was the reason for everything that had gone wrong in Stiles's life, and his own. No, he couldn't bear to be so selfish. But he hated himself that he wanted to be. 

Derek's cheeks blush as he thinks of Stiles's delicate fingertips dragging lightly over his face. His own hands touch his cheek, so rough in comparison to Stiles dainty hands. It doesn't feel the same and he finds himself feeling disappointed. 

Sighing, he resumes his work in the gallery. He idly sands the patches of spackle, his hands move slowly and without purpose. Feeling restless, he decides to take a short walk.

He takes in the cool night air. His nostrils flair as he catches a whiff of rotting flesh, dirt and wolf. The hairs on his neck prickle. The pungent smell leads him through the sleepy town. Up and down alleys and back roads, through the woods... the trail avoids anywhere populated. He follows it to the Beacon Hills reserve where he shifts seamlessly, sliding out of his clothing. As he pads through the woods, the scent of blood grows stronger and his heart beats faster. His trot has developed into a sprint towards the smell. 

A young woman, wide eyed and jerking, blood gurgling from the wounds on her neck. Derek shifts and clasps her neck, trying to stop the bleeding. His veins turn black as he drains as much of her pain as he can safely. Her eyes roll back as she loses consciousness. She doesn't have much time, he lifts her, trying to keep pressure on her neck and sprints back to his clothes. He tears his shirt and wraps it around her neck tightly, her breath wheezes. He pulls on his sweats, racing with her to the hospital, deciding it might look even more suspicious to carry in a bleeding girl buck naked. Her pulse weakens more with each block. A swarm of nurses pry her from him the moment he bursts through the door. He lets her go, hoping for the best. 

"You'd better stay here." A stern looking nurse with curly brown hair tells him. "Sit." 

He reluctantly seats himself, feeling like a domesticated pet. 

"Melissa, Stilinski's on his way." Another nurse tells her. She nods, not taking her eyes of Derek. _Damn, this isn't going to go the way I want it to._

He waits. No one could stop him if he decided to leave, but he can barely bring himself to move his feet. Dark shoes tap over, standing in front of Derek. Straining to pull his eyes up, they finally settle on a man he'd seen many years ago.

"Wanna tell me what you were doing out there in the woods?" The Sheriff asks him. Derek recalls the time this very same man when he came to take away Stiles. He reeked of alcohol and grief. The smell was stifling. His eyes and cheeks, dark and sullen. Lifeless. A small light glowed deep inside when he looked at Stiles but the overbearing sadness made it hard to see. '_A place where he can be with other kids like him_' he had said. Derek was furious. Stiles was just like any other kid. Stiles was there with Derek. Stiles was perfect. This man stole him away. 

"Is she alive?"

The sheriff shakes his head. Derek's heart sinks a little. "Answer the question."

"Jogging."

"Jogging... Huh." The Sheriff glances down Derek's naked torso and feet. "Interesting... Alright, I think you'd better come down to the station with me." 

"I'd rather not." Derek grumbles. 

"Sorry, that wasn't a question. Come on." 

Derek walks with him to the cruiser, noticing his hand never leaving his unclipped holster. _He thinks I did it_, he thinks as he slides into the backseat. _Fuck_. His head falls backwards into the seat as they drive to the station. 

"So what's your name, kid?" 

"Derek."

"You from here, Derek?"

"A long time ago, I was."

"Your parents. They live here?"

"They did. They're dead." 

"Sorry to hear that. What happened?"

"They were burned alive by Kate Argent." 

The cruiser screeches to a halt. "Derek. Derek Hale?" 

"Nice to see you again, Mr. Stilinski." 

"Holy shit. I thought you were dead. Everyone did." 

"I'd like to keep it that way if you don't mind." 

"Jesus Christ." 

"Jesus has no place here, Sheriff. You know I didn't do that to that woman." 

"What did?" 

"I don't know. That's what I was trying to find out." 

"The doctors think it's a bear or something, but you and I know better. What did this, Derek?" 

"I said I don't know." 

"Was it one of you?"

"Potentially."

"I'm sorry but I need to have the Argents in on this one."

Derek growls. "Then leave me out of it."

"I understand." His hands raise in defense. "But they've been protecting the area for a while now, we haven't had any issues since, well.. for a while now." 

"Aside from them burning 11 innocent people alive!" Derek roars.

"Now, now. Don't raise your voice at me."

Derek's eyes burns a bright blue as they flash at the Sheriff, who only looks momentarily shocked. The man gets out of the drivers seat and opens the back door; Derek steps out. They stand almost toe to toe, eyes daring. 

"Go on, then." The Sheriff says, "stay out of trouble." 

Derek snorts and takes off at a slow jog. He waits until he's out of sight, hidden by trees and foliage, to slip back into his wolf form. Padding through the woods, he follows the rogue wolf's scent.

_This ends now._

He tracks the Alpha for leagues. 

With his nose pressed to the dirt, he snorts, sending loose particles of dust skittering across the ground. So close, but never close enough...

They've been playing this game of chase for almost a week now. Just when he thinks he's closing in on the rogue, it slips through his claws. Leaving a breadcrumb trail of bodies in it's wake. With a climbing body count, Derek is becoming desperate. He pushes himself, going days without sleep as he pursues the killer, knowing he won't be able to rest until it's dead. 

Their game of cat and mouse leads them up through Canada. Derek swims through freezing channels of water that sometimes stretch for 30 miles. At one point he's sure he's lost the rogue in the salty water, barely able to find a weak scent. He speeds forward at a brutal pace until he finds it again, following it to the Northern part of Greenland. Derek is exhausted, hungry from neglecting his basic needs, favoring the chase instead. 

Despite his exhaustion, he can't sleep. The eerie light from the sun that never sets, puts him on edge. He takes comfort in the night, the moonlight that gives him power. A crunch of leaves makes his ears flick and his tail swoosh behind him. Something doesn't feel right. It causes his hackles to stand up on his back. 

His entire body is thrown sideways by what feels like a fucking Mac truck. Bones crunch on his left side as his body wraps around a tree. A feral growl comes from the right, bright red eyes glow above bloody, gnashing teeth. The rogue. Derek's spine is broken. He can't feel his legs. _Fuck_. 

He snarls and growls as the Alpha nears, biting at what he can reach. His spine will take time to heal. Time he doesn't have. He heart pounds in his chest. _Stiles_. It almost breaks as he thinks this may be his end. _I found you just in time for it to ruin me_, he thinks as the Alpha snaps Derek's neck in it's jaws.

The first thing Derek processes is pain. Everything fucking hurts. He's not sure how long he's been out, not long enough. It's been at least a few days. The rogue is gone and his scent along with it. Defeated, Derek limps home.

He stumbles down the hallway, using the wall to keep his balance. Stiles's scent is rubbed all over his door, like he's been here often. Derek groans as he presses his forehead to the wood. The door clicks open to his right.

"What the- Derek?" Scott's voice rings in his ear. Too loud. Derek closes his eyes. "Oh shit." Scott swears as Derek slips down to his knees, catching him before he falls.

Derek wakes, groggily and curls closer to the warm body pressed to his side. He sighs, pulling it closer. 

"Mmm.... Stiles?" 

"I'm here. I'm pissed about it, but somehow I'm still here." 

"What happened?" 

"That's what I would like to know, moron. You disappear for almost two weeks and you show up like this? Half dead on my doorstep." 

"I was just... tired." He sits up, moving away from Stiles. He doesn't deserve his comforting warmth. Stiles sits up too. 

"Bullshit."

Derek can smell the agitation rolling off Stiles. Now isn't the time for lying. They lay in silence for a while. Neither seem to be the one to want to break the silence.

"You..." Stiles starts. Sighing, he lays back down, eyes closed. "You missed my birthday." 

"I'm sorry."

"You didn't take me on my date." 

"How do I make it up to you?" 

Stiles shrugs. "Dinner could be nice, I guess."

"You guess?" 

"Yeah, something nice. You should probably wear a tie." 

Derek chuckles. "A tie." 

Stiles hums in agreement. "And dessert."

"Dessert? Am I wearing that too?" 

Color rushes to Stiles's fair cheeks and the tips of his ears. "No, you're buying it for me. I like chocolate." 

"Okay." 

Smiling like an idiot, Derek finds himself staring contently at Stiles. For a moment, he forgets about everything but the man in front of him. The man who brought a smile to a face that hadn't smiled in years. But reality floods back like dam breaking, the rogue and the dead woman come flooding back. Derek leans in, resting his head on Stiles's stomach, allowing himself this one comfort.

There's three things he's sure of today. One, he should be dead. The rogue was an alpha. A strong one. Why it didn't kill him is a mystery. As a beta, his strength is mediocre at best in the world of werewolves. The alpha could have absorbed his strength in killing him. Why didn't he? 

Two, he can't take Stiles on a date. He needs to distance himself from Stiles, being closer to him only puts him in danger. 

Because, three, he is in love with Stiles. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. I'm really sorry it's been so long since my last update. I'm trying hard not to beat myself up over it, I hope you'll be gentle with me too 😅 some big things are coming up in the next few chapters and it took me a while to get things going the way I wanted to. It was hard for me to be happy with the plot but I think I'm where I want to be now! I hope you enjoy!

**Stiles**

Stiles's trembling hands pull the door closed to the gallery. He rests his forehead on the old wooden door. It's smooth and worn under his skin, the metal of the handle is cool in his palm. He exhales as a rush of emotions consumes him. His knees buckle and he almost collapses. Disappointment, disbelief, happiness, sadness...

_'Now you know why we can't be together.' _ He cringes as his mind replays every word, expression, every move that Derek made, trying to make sense of it. What did it mean? Why did he let Stiles do the things he did? Why did Derek do the things he did? Why did it feel like he was leading Stiles on? The questions raced with no answers. Derek, who loved him as a boy couldn't love him as a man? Who was Stiles to blame him?

The thought hurts Stiles more than anticipated. _'He doesn't__ like you like that. He was just trying to be nice'._ Stiles bites his bottom lip while his heart weighes heavily in his chest. He'd heard that a few times before. He wraps his arms around his abdomen, as if holding himself tightly enough might prevent him from accidentally falling apart. So fragile, he'd convinced himself that he was so strong... that he wouldn't need help from anyone. Fingers grasp the fabric of his shirt tightly, nails digging into his palms. 

Needing to feel something tactile, something other than the aching trapped behind his ribs, Stiles heads to the studio to drown himself in a pool of paper and ink. The smell of the studio calms him. It's a mix of solvents, paper and ink. It smells industrial. He's idly dragging his fingers over the plexiglass of his wolf plate when footsteps interrupt his lack of thought. 

"Stiles. It's unlike you not to be elbow deep in a project, are you alright?" 

"Thanks, Professor. I'm just feeling uninspired, I suppose." He shrugs. "Plus, Scott's not here to help me with these so I'm kinda useless right now." He hits the plate with the back of his knuckle, producing a dull thud.

He hears Deaton mutter a little as he walks away and begins rummaging through papers; prints he suspects. 

"Ah. Feel this." Deaton's hand leads Stiles's to a paper laid out on the table. There's ridges that spiderweb across the entirety of the page, some thin as fishing wire, some as thick as his finger. 

"There's no ink." Deaton explains. "It's called a blind emboss." 

Stiles smiles, "Of course it is." 

"This one was made with glue, just letting it dry and then running it through the press with damp paper. But you could use anything, cardboard, cardstock, twine, wire... And it's something you can print yourself. In the meantime, Jackson?"

Stiles probably visibly flinches. _Shiiiit_.

"Yes, Professor Deaton?"

"Would you ever mind assisting Stiles in printing his drypoint?" 

_Say no. Say no. Say no._

"Not at all, I'll go grab the supplies." His voice confident. 

"There, inspired?" 

"Uhhh... Yeah. Sure. Great, thanks." Stiles deflates. 

"Take it easy, Stiles. You're a great artist." His teacher says as he leaves him with a pat on the back. 

"Yeah..... Great, thanks." He repeats, his voice flat. 

Stiles sighs._ I hate you, Scott. I hate you, Derek. I hate you, Lydia. I hate you, Jackson, the most actually. I hate-_

"I assumed black ink?" Jackson sneers, metal and glass clatter onto the table's surface. 

"Twenty by twenty eight size paper, fifteen of them for now. Use the white Stonehenge."

Jackson sighs a bit, but Stiles soon hears the paper being torn. It's a beautiful sound.

Jackson helps him register the plate and paper with tape. Their hands accidentally brush; Stiles's fingers dragging against Jackson's knuckles. He jerks his hand back, the touch of someone else feels so foreign and uninvited now. Stiles is an incredibly tactile person, needing to feel in order to make up for his missing sense. The feel of someone else just drives the ghost of Derek's touch deeper. A touch he probably won't feel again, not the way he hoped anyways. The raw passion, nothing holding them back... No, now it will be chaste and friendly. Touch among friends, not lovers. _Lovers. Is that what they would have been? _He imagines the way they would both pull away as he had with Jackson, the touch no longer comforting but awkward and accidental.

He scoffs audibly, chasing it with a sigh. Just maybe, they can be friends. Yeah, just friends. Stiles can do that. Maybe he only feels this strongly because they were friends for so long. Like brothers. That's it. I'm confused because I love him like a brother. 

Love. There's that word again. 

"You sound awfully conflicted. Trouble in paradise?" 

Stiles had almost forgotten he wasn't alone. 

"Shut up, Jackson." he grits out. It's a Christmas fucking miracle when Jackson actually listens. 

They finish ten prints before Stiles is sick of being around Jackson. He isn't excessively annoying but being in the presence of an ex-love-interest while still sulking about a newer ex-love-interest... Well, let's just say it's less than ideal. It makes Stiles antsy and irritated. He calls it quits and packs up to head home.

Stiles is slow to walk back. He's hopeful for his furry friend to come visit, he always shows up when Stiles needs a nonverbal shoulder to lean on. Reluctant to close the door to his building, he leans up against the building, taking in the fresh air. It's cooling down for the evening, a breeze tickles the hair on his neck and arms.

He knocks on Derek's door to invite him over for pizza and a movie but he doesn't answer. _Surprise surprise_. Stiles goes to sleep without pizza. Or a movie. Or seeing Derek.

The sheets are cool on his skin as he climbs in. He feels unsettled; his feet rub together nervously, not unlike someone might wring their hands. It's hard to get comfortable. Sighing, Stiles rolls over again. The pillows don't seem to have a cold side tonight as he flips and smashes them, trying to get in a position to sleep. He finally falls asleep, but it's a light sleep that floods him with half dreams, fluid thoughts and not nearly enough rest. 

...

The next few days are mundane to say the least. Derek is either dead in his apartment, on vacation in the Maldives or... he's avoiding Stiles, and doing a damn good job. One evening Stiles is feeling particularly bitter. _Who does he think he is anyways?_ He doesn't even bother knocking, he just slams his heel into the door. 

"Fucking asshole!" He shouts and stomps off to the gallery. It's still locked, silent inside. So much for friends. He doesn't even have the balls to face me after he lied to me. He hits the corner of the door frame, clipping his knuckles. They sting but he's too cross to care. Fuck him, he grumbles all the way back home, stewing in his emotions. 

"Let's go out somewhere. I wanna get drunk." Stiles declares to Scott as he kicks in the door. 

"Uhh... Well, I promised Allison I would go bowling with her and her Aunt. She's not in town much longer."

Stiles sighs heavily and whines. "You can come with?" Scott offers. 

"Fiiiiiine. It's better than sitting here." He retreats to his bedroom to change into some tighter jeans that Lydia picked out for him, and a soft hoodie that had previously at least got him a phone number. He imagines he looks damn good.

They meet the women at the bowling alley not much later. Kate orders a drink from the bar and Scott orders pizza for everyone.

"So, Allison says your an artist." Kate's voice seems inquisitive. 

"Uh, yeah. Printmaking. I'm just a freshman though, barely even that." 

"Cute, young and talented? Tell me there's someone putting a ring on this boy!" She teases. Stiles can barely help but blush. 

"Unfortunately, no." 

"Well, if I was about 10 years younger..." 

"And had a dick." It slips out before Stiles can stop himself. Audible gasps come from at least two of the three mouths near him. They're soon followed by a fit of giggles and snorts from the group, allowing Stiles to relax. 

"Damn, boy! You had me blushing at that one. Well, touché." 

"Besides, he prefers the tall, dark, handsome and broody type." Scott chimes in.

"I don't want to talk about him, he's an asshole." 

"Who's done you wrong, sweetie?" 

"It's complicated." Stiles grumbles out. A cool hand lays over his.

"Okay, lay it on me. Give me all the dirt." 

Stiles sighs, "I don't know. It just didn't turn out how I expected... I thought things were going great but then he said that it wasn't going to work out. Just felt like I was led on and now he's been avoiding me."

"Are you sure?" Scott asks. "It barely looks like he's been home lately... Maybe-"

"No, Scott. He's avoiding me. I don't even blame him. Can you? Why would someone like Derek want someone like me? Come on. You've seen him."

"Yeah, and I saw how into you he was!"

"Derek... Derek who? Is he from around here?" Kate chimes in curiously. 

Stiles freezes. "Uhhh....... I-I'm not sure." He knows his lie is less than convincing. "He's not a big talker, so I guess it never came up." He shrugs it off. Kate doesn't push it. Besides, who would remember that family anyways? It's been years. 

The four of them disband once the bowling alley closes. It's late, but Stiles still feels restless. The boys find someone to buy them beer and sneak it into their apartment. It's a dry campus but it's never short of people willing to buy underaged kids booze. 

They drink and shoot the shit until they both become bleary, falling asleep strewn across the living room furniture. 

He wakes up feeling less than enthused. Two weeks ago, he couldn't wait for his birthday. It was going to be the day he was treated like a normal guy, going on a normal date. Now he just wants to lay on this couch and nurse his hangover. He flops his arm over the side of the couch, his fingertips brush the carpet. 

Scott is banging around in the kitchen, grumbling. The coffee maker hisses and sputters as it spits out the hot liquid. The aroma is pleasant.

"Pour me a cup?" Stiles finally rouses. 

"Why did we drink so much?" Scott whines. 

"Because I'm a sad sack." 

"Oh yeah." 

Stiles sighs, dragging himself to the table. He plops down in the chair and lays his upper body on the cool wood. It feels nice.

Once properly caffeinated, Stiles ventures out to the studio. He's bending wire for the blind print when heels come clacking in. He groans. Not what he needs today, already rubbing his eyebrows in anticipation.

“Hey, I need to talk to you.” Lydia demands.

“No thanks--I don’t like talking. Have a nice day, goodbye!” 

"Seriously, Stiles?"

"Yes, seriously. I'm also giving up sarcasm for Lent. Come again after Easter."

"Oh my God. Can you just be serious for half a second here?"

"Okay. Being serious. Go away."

“Actually, I think I’ll hang out here for another hour or so... That doesn’t bother you, does it?” 

Throwing his hands up, he flings his tools across the table. They roll along the wood making a soft clatter. He groans and crosses his arms, sliding down in his chair. 

"What is with you?!" Lydia demands. I haven't seen you in weeks!"

"I mean, technically, I haven't seen you since we were like 5, what's the point you're trying to make here?" 

"Is this about Derek?"

"What? No! Why would it be about-" Stiles can feel her dubious glare. "Okay, maybe like, a little about Derek."

"Stiles."

"Okay! I'm devastated! Is that what you wanted to hear? I thought he liked me. He told me he didn't and now he moved to Antarctica!" Stiles exclaims, his hands thrown in the air. 

"What happened to Jackson?"

"Jackson's a jerk."

"And Derek isn't?"

"Derek's a dick. There's a difference. I'm gay. I like dicks."

"You're repulsive."

"Thank you."

"Ugh. Your welcome. Well, it's your birthday so what time are we going out?" Lydia scoffs.

"I'm out right now." 

"You know what I mean, Stiles."

"I don't feel like it, honestly. I'm hungover already."

"Best way to cute a hangover is a cocktail!" She sings.

"Yeah, we'll see."

"Well, come over tonight, I'll invite some friends. I'll make sure Jackson is there." 

"All the more reason not to come." 

"Whatever, loser, see you tonight."

"No, you won't!" He shouts as her footsteps fade out the door. 

...

"Alright buddy, get up. We're going to Lydia's. It's your birthday. You're 18. It'll help you get your mind off things." Scott reasons later that night. 

By things, he meant Derek. He wasn't going to forget him easily, but maybe he could at least forgive him. There was a lot of history there. It was a weird dynamic. It wasn't that surprising that their relationship was a little confusing. 

"Yeah. Okay. Let's go." Stiles gets up and begins to pull on his shoes. 

Scott unlocks the door, the door handle rattles.

"What the- Derek?" Stiles jumps up at Scott's concern. "Oh shit." He hears a soft thud. 

"What's going on? Derek?" Stiles panics. 

"Dude, what the fuck man." Scott exclaims. "Hang on, Stiles, I'm gonna need your help. He's unconscious." 

"What?! Why? Is he hurt? What's wrong?" 

"I don't know. Let's get him inside. See if he has a key in his pocket."

Stiles sighs. Sure, let the blind guy rummage around in an unconscious man's pants. But it's Derek. He reaches down, locating Derek's knee, sliding his hands up to his thigh and into his pocket. No keys. He slides his hands as non-sexually as possible over Derek's lap to check the other side. Bingo. The cold metal jingles as he wiggles his hands into his sweatpants. 

"Shit, Stiles. This looks pretty bad. I should call my mom." 

"Yeah, okay." Stiles is shaking, his breath coming out short and quick. _Holy shit. Holy shit. Fuck fuckfuckfuck._

Scott has a brief conversation with his mom as he unlocks the door. Stiles rests his hand on Derek's thigh like he might get up and run away at any moment. He realizes he's squeezing too tight, his hand hurts after a minute or so. 

"Okay, let's each take a side and drag him. I don't think we're getting any help from him." 

They both hoist him halfway up by his armpits and drag him in the house. Scott helps lead them to his bedroom. Stiles had hoped he would be in here at some point, preferably invited. Preferably when Derek was conscious, but beggars can't be choosers, right? 

It takes two tries but they finally get him onto his bed, laying down. 

"Good God, he's heavy." He pauses, "There's a lot of blood, but its... dry. I don't think he's bleeding anywhere." Scott murmurs to himself as he shuffles around. Stiles stands, cautious of his new surroundings without his cane. 

Melissa doesn't take long to get there. Her friendly voice is calm as she looks Derek over. 

"He's not wounded. This blood isn't his..." She trails off. "I know this man. He came in a few weeks ago. With a woman. She died. He left with your dad, Stiles." 

Stiles doesn't speak. None of this makes any sense. 

"I'll get him cleaned up and changed... But Stiles, call your dad." 

They leave the room. He pulls out his phone. It rings three times. 

"Dad?" 

"Stiles? Something wrong, kiddo?" 

"Yeah, um... My neighbor. He, uh..." Stiles isn't even sure how to word anything right now. He takes a deep breath. "Derek. Derek Hale. He's alive. He's been missing and showed up and passed out covered in blood but its not his so it's okay, I think? But Scott's mom is here and she told me to call you." 

His dad sighs, "I know. We had a run in a little while b-"

"Wait, you knew?" His voice, accusing.

"Well, now Stiles, I don't think it was my business to go around telling folks his business."

"I deserved to know. You should have told me too. Why do you all fucking lie to me? I'm not a little kid."

"Stiles."

"Forget it." He hangs up, scowling.

"Stiles?" Scott asks gingerly.

"Don't. Not now." 

They sit in silence until Melissa comes out. "Definitely no wounds. A slight fever. He just looks like he's exhausted to the point of passing out. Call me if anything changes for the worst. I imagine he will be fine... What did your dad say?"

"Nothing helpful."

"Hm. Okay, thanks for calling me. You did the right thing... Someone should keep an eye on him though."

"I'll uh... I'll stay with him." Stiles volunteers. Scott and his mom leave, Stiles awkwardly locks the door behind them. 

The sheets are soft against his bare calves as he slides in the bed next to Derek. Exhausted, he slouches into a halfway sitting position, his head lolling onto his shoulder. He's in that floaty place that happens right before you fall asleep when a creak of the bed startles him. A groggy voice comes from beside him.

"Stiles?" 

"I'm here." He pauses, trying to scrounge up the remaining anger among all the relief. "I'm pissed about it, but somehow I'm still here."

Derek avoids his questions about where he was and what happened. He can't take being lied to again, so he changes the conversation. 

"You missed my birthday." He pouts, joking only a little. His birthday has been over for only a few hours. They banter and Derek lays his head on Stiles's stomach. He wants nothing more than to lean down and kiss him, but restrains. Instead, he runs his fingers through Derek's obscenely soft hair, wondering where things go from here. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo I've been kind of MIA and I'm sorry! I will do everything I can to keep chapters coming! Thank you for your continued support 🙏 and for not giving up on me! 
> 
> Stay safe!

**Derek**

There's a strange wave of peace that washes over Derek, knowing he's in love with Stiles. Admitting to it. It's quickly cut with panic. Being this close to Stiles has become dangerous. The rogue knows his scent, they could easily be traced back here. He sits up, a little too quickly, blood rushing to his head. 

"Derek?" Stiles concerns. Derek hums in response, not sure what to say. He doesn't want to let Stiles out of his sight; he wants to keep him from anyone and anything that might hurt him. However, he can't deny that it's a pretty excuse for keeping Stiles near him... to be with him. He sighs. _I'm sorry I put you in this mess_, he thinks. _But I won't be able to live with myself if I can't keep you safe. From the rogue. From his wolf. From the past. _

Stiles is picking at a loose string on his shorts. It's wrapped once around two of his long, nimble fingers. He feeds it back and fourth between them in a figure eight, the thread leaving a thin white line where it presses against his skin for a brief moment before being passed to the other side. He's nervous, Derek realizes. He thinks about the last conversation they had before he took off after the rogue.

"Stiles?"

He jumps a little, clearly lost in thought. His head turns towards Derek slightly, but that's all. 

"Hm?" 

"Are you alright?" 

"Yeah." He pauses, fiddling with his shorts again. "Actually, no." Hands press onto his thighs, squeezing slightly. 

"I'm kinda pissed off actually."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. So, you can start by telling me what happened. The truth." 

The truth. Derek could almost laugh. He wonders for a moment how Stiles would react to '_well, for starters, I'm a werewolf_'. He would, for a fact, not believe Derek. 

"I...." He huffs. "I can't."

Stiles laughs in what seems to be disbelief. "You can't. Of course you can't. You know what? Fuck you, Derek." He stands, his hands guiding him out of his room. 

"Wait." 

"No. I waited for two fucking weeks for you to come around. I waited for a week before that wondering what the hell was going on between us. I'm _done_ waiting." 

Derek races to the door, blocking it. Stiles's hand reaches out for the door and presses against Derek's chest. His hands jerk back in surprise. 

"Move." He demands. 

"No." 

Stiles raises his fist. For someone so scrawny, he sure does try to start a lot of fights. Derek snatches up both his wrists, pinning them down at his sides.

"I wasn't running away from you. From this. I... I think someone knows who I am. Someone who thought I was dead." 

He releases Stiles's wrists once the resistance stops. 

"You think... Like the person who started the fire?"

"I don't know. I was looking for... information. I wasn't running away. But Stiles," he pauses, choking on his words, "you're not safe around me. I don't want you to get hurt." 

"I'll be fine."

"I won't be."

He snorts, more disbelief. It's oddly irritating to Derek that Stiles is having a hard time trusting him. So weary of his intentions. 

"Let's talk to my dad. He'll know what to do." 

"No, Stiles. Your dad can't fix this. He couldn't back then. And he can't now."

"He can help you! I can help you." 

Derek all but snarls. "No, Stiles, you can't. I can't help myself. No one can fix this." 

"I can. Let me try."

Derek shakes his head and runs his fingers through his hair, nothing makes sense. Stiles finds his way back to the bed, flopping back onto it. A huff of air expelled from his body as his back hits the mattress.

"Why does everything suck?"

Derek smirks. "Not everything."

"Tell me one thing." Stiles replies dubiously.

"I found you?"

Stiles blushes and Derek can hear his heart beat a little faster. A small smile spreads across his lips. "You did."

Derek touches the back of Stiles's hand lightly. Stiles turns his hand, grasping Derek's palm. His hand is cool and small in comparison to Derek's. He leads him to the living room, setting him up at the couch while he starts some coffee. The sunshine peeks in through the blinds making the room a glowy orange.

Stiles takes no time cozying up on Derek's couch. He talks about art, an audio book he's been listening to, and Scott. Derek mostly listens. His eyes flicker to the window more than often. _Stiles is safe with me. I can keep him safe._ He repeats like a mantra in his mind. Stiles is holding a wadded up blanket in his lap, rubbing the stitching with his fingertips. 

Derek comes to sit by him. They lounge. Stiles asks twenty million questions it seems; Derek only answers a handful. Stiles begins to yawn more often and rubs his eyes. It almost reminds Derek of a tired toddler. They sit for a while in silence. If Derek hadn't been watching, he might have thought the other man fell asleep. 

"Thank you. For looking after me. You didn't have to." Derek finally says. 

"Yeah. I know. I wanted to." Stiles shrugs. "I guess... I should probably go back."

"You don't have to." Derek says a little too quickly.

"Oh.. Okay. Then, I won't." Stiles slides his legs over Derek's, his knees hooking over Derek's thighs. Hesitant, Derek folds his hands over Stiles's knees. 

"Derek?"

"Hm?"

"Do you like me?"

Derek hesitates for a moment, "Yes".

"You know I'm asking if you like me as more than besties that go get their nails done together, right?"

Derek snorts dubiously.

"Can you kiss me now?"

He squeezes Stiles's leg involuntarily, his breath catching. His mind begins racing. Stiles is coming at him faster than he's ready for, his knees resting on either side of Derek's waist. Cool hands press to his cheeks as Stiles sweet, warm breath mingles with his, only inches away. He hesitates, his mind and body screaming two different things.

And then everything goes silent. Stiles's lips press gently to Derek's, his lips part only slightly. Derek's tongue can't help but to fill the gap, tasting inside gingerly. Their kiss is so slow, so soft. All the urgency and worry is pushed from his mind. Right now, it's just them. Connected together by touch, by taste. 

Stiles's hands run gently down his neck, the fingertips rub against the sensitive glands just under his jaw. He can smell his own arousal spike as Stiles hips press against his own. He wishes for a moment that Stiles could smell it too. That they could get drunk on each other's scent, bask in the two mixing together like he wishes to do now. His hands splay across Stiles's waist and back, nose nuzzling into the dip of Stiles's shoulder. His chest physically hurts as he squeezes Stiles just a little tighter.

_I'm sorry, Stiles. I can't put you in the middle of this. I won't be able to live with myself if anything else happens to you. I can't lose you._ He feels so protective of Stiles, something he's never experienced before. He's never had something that he couldn't stand to lose.

Stiles's breathes against his neck, a soft snore rattles in his ear. He lays there, a pillow for Stiles, until his blinks become too long. His breath a little too slow. He's exhausted. He cradles Stiles closely as he stands. A cheek rubs gently on Derek's shoulder as he carries Stiles to his bed. He doesn't bother to release the man as his head hits the pillow. They tangle together, a mess of limbs, skin and warm breaths. 

Derek wakes with Stiles's face buried into his chest. Derek's arm is draped over him and their legs weave together in a limbed knot. An aggressive buzz comes from Stiles's pocket. Derek ignores it, closing his eyes and wallowing in Stiles's pleasant scent. A second buzz causes Stiles to stir slightly. His knee slides up between Derek's thighs, nuzzling against his groin. His groan caused Stiles to fully wake, his arms stretching above his head. As he stretched his hips pressed against Derek's stomach, allowing him to feel Stiles's eager morning wood. A soft moan passes Stiles's lips as his bones pop and his muscles strain. Once he relaxes, his hands come out to rest on Derek's chest. His eyebrows shoot halfway up his forehead and his body goes stiff. The room is silent aside from the buzzing of his phone.

"Uhhhh...."

Derek chuckles softly. "And good morning to you, too."

Stiles pushes himself away harshly, his face turning almost maroon. Derek begins laughing, the feeling is so foreign it doesn't last long. He surprises himself. He can't remember the last time he actually laughed. Smiling fondly, he pulls Stiles in for a kiss. It feels so domestic, laying here in bed with him. So much like coming home. Stiles hair is pushed to the side and sticking up in a few places. He runs his fingers through it, his lips curling up into a sheepish grin.

"Good morning. Sorry, I didn't mean to- uhh.. well, you know."

Derek continues to chortle as he gets out of the bed. A loud thump on his front door makes him freeze. 

"Is that-"

Derek shushes him as he swiftly makes his way to the living room. A fist is pounded against the door in rapid succession. 

"Answer your goddamn door!" Scott yells from the other side. Derek's eyes roll and his body relaxes. The pounding continues until Derek crosses the room and flings the door open. 

"What?" He asks flatly. Scott's eyes are wild and panicked.

"Stiles. I can't find him. Where is he? I checked school, I checked the apartment, I checked-"

"Scott?" Stiles voice comes from Derek's doorway. 

"Why didn't you answer your damn phone?! You haven't answered me all day! You said you were gonna call me. You said you went home!"

"Sorry. Guess I fell asleep." 

"Jesus. Whatever. Glad you're okay." His voice is sarcastic as he looks Derek up and down menacingly. Derek glares back. He's almost impressed when Scott doesn't back down. "I guess I'll see you whenever."

Scott doesn't bother to close Derek's door as he stomps 20 feet down the hall and back to his own apartment. The door slams a little to heavily for it to be an accident. 

"I guess that's my cue." Stiles says gently. "Uhh... Shout or whatever... if you need anything?" 

They say their goodbyes and Derek nests back into his bed, burying his nose into the pillow that houses Stiles's perfume. He could smother himself in this pillow and die happy, he's convinced.

The next morning, there's a rapid knock at his door. Stiles's smiling face is there when he opens it.

Derek answers. "Didn't get enough of me or...?"

"I just wanted to check on you. Are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah, I heal fast." 

"That's good... I apparently bruise like a peach so, heh.." 

Derek mouth waters as he imagines marking up Stiles's neck and chest. _No_. He shouldn't be thinking like that. Clearing his throat, thanking Stiles. _Keep it in check_, he growls at himself.

"So, I was wondering if you wanted to come with me to get coffee?" Stiles asks, his cheeks are tinted pink. Derek leans in, speaking softly. 

"Are you blushing?" 

Stiles stumbles back, startled. "N-no! This is just my natural complexion--so lay off!"

Derek chuckles and grasps Stiles's hand, pulling it to the crease of his elbow. "Let's go."

Derek leads them towards the main path that will bring them to University Drive. There's a slight cool breeze as the sun hides behind some clouds, Stiles shivers a little. He huddles closer into Derek. 

The hairs on the back of Derek's neck prickle as they walk. He glances around, not seeing anyone aside from man sleeping in a hammock tied between two young trees and a young couple crossing the street holding hands. He strains to hear anything unusual, something not quite right, but finds nothing. Even the hairs on his arms are standing up on end as they make their way. Suspicious of a single leaf that blows across the sidewalk, Derek nostrils flare and snort. He comes to a complete stop. Something is not right.

"Derek?" Stiles asks. 

Derek scans around him. "Let's go back."

"Back? Why? You feeling okay?"

"Uh, no. I think I should go home. Guess I don't feel as great as I thought." He's unconvincing, the words are rushed through his tight lips. He's afraid to speak too loudly. It's driving him crazy. A scent? A noise? Something was subconsciously putting him on edge.

"Why don't we just sit down for a sec-"

"No." He begins to lead Stiles back to the apartment. Resisting at first, Stiles is reluctantly dragged a few steps but falls into rhythm next to Derek as he strides back to their building. 

"For not feeling so hot, you sure move quick. Geebus."

He sighs in relief once they're behind the closed door of his apartment. His paranoia subsiding slightly. Was it the rogue? Was he near? No. Couldn't be him. I'd know. 

"Derek, are you sure-"

"I'm fine." He snaps. He's listening. He can't listen with Stiles's heart slamming in his chest like that. He's too close. "I think it's time for you to go." Derek practically shuts the door in Stiles's face.

He frantically paces his apartment, periodically scenting the outside air for the rogue through an open window. Paranoid, he refuses to turn on anything that might make noise. Yet, the silence is driving him mad. He alternates between forcing himself to sit and pacing. He's ready to tear out of his apartment and hunt it down. So he does. He scours the campus until the sun hangs low in the sky, coming back empty handed. The adrenaline wearing off, he drags himself home. Taking comfort in the soft, steady beating of Stiles's heart, he lays awake until morning when he hears Stiles's begin to stir. 

Derek waits until the keys jangle as Stiles locks his apartment behind him. He cane drags against the hallway flooring as he passes by Derek's door as he opens it. 

Stiles pauses for only a moment before stalking forward. 

"Stiles."

His shoulders tense as Derek closes and locks his own door behind him. His steps slow but he doesn't stop. Derek takes a few long strides to close the gap. His fingers reach out to hold Stiles's arm, wishing to bring it to his own... But he stops, pulling his hand back to himself. 

"Stiles?"

The man comes to a halt, his cane whipping around and smacking Derek in the shin with a thwack. 

"You... are an incomprehensible asshat. Did you know that? And you're everywhere! Why are you everywhere? Go away." 

This time Derek does reach for his hand. Stiles jerks it away, his cheeks dusting pink but he remains firm. 

Derek sighs and leans forward, his fingers lace with Stiles's. He continues to lean in until their foreheads press together. He can smell Stiles's shampoo and toothpaste.

"I'm sorry." He says as he backs away, releasing Stiles's hand. 

"Right. You know. Sorry and stuff doesn't fix everything. You're still an ass." 

"I know"

"Good" Stiles marches to the coffee shop. Derek imagines how hard it is for him to remain silent the entire walk. Derek follows closely behind. He orders his coffee, Derek orders his own and a double chocolate muffin. He pays for both orders and sits down next to Stiles, pressing the muffin into his hand. 

"I'm going to eat this... But I'm still mad at you." 

Derek grins and watches Stiles pick apart the muffin piece by piece. He places each torn off chunk into his mouth lightly, his tongue darting out to taste the chocolate crumbs occasionally left on his lips. Derek can't help but notice how sensual it is, watching Stiles eat. 

"No wonder you're so skinny, always picking at your food." 

Stiles gasps, his eyebrows go wide. "That." He pauses dramatically, "is probably the most rude thing you've said to me."

Derek shrugs as if Stiles can see it.

"You haven't seen me at my best. Just wait. I'm a beast. You're not ready to see that." 

"Oh?"

"Yeah. It's revolting." A snarky voice comes from behind Derek, a slim hand slipping to his shoulder. 

"Lydia! Nice of you to join us." Stiles's voices pitches higher than usual. 

"Would have been nice if you'd have joined us for your party." 

Stiles sucks air sharply in through his teeth. "Yeahh... About that.. See, here's the thing..."

"I wasn't feeling well. He took care of me." Derek stares down her narrowed hazel eyes and shrugs off her hand.

"Weren't you like MIA for eternity?" She scoffs, turning her gaze to Stiles. "Where to again? Antarctica?" 

"Actually, Greenland. Family emergency." He all but growls. 

"Right. Well, Deaton was looking for you. He wanted to see how your blind print went." She directs at Stiles.

"I haven't started." 

"Might wanna get on that." She snides as she waltzes away. Derek can't help but to feel 'prickly' around her. She reminds him so much of... He shakes the name from his mind. The thought lingers like the taste of blood on his tongue. 

"Studio?" Derek inquires.

"Are you offering to help?"

"Sure."

As it turns out, a blind emboss requires less assistance when there's no ink involved. He watches Stiles experiment with different textures and mediums as he makes 'proofs' as he called them. They're what Derek would consider practice prints, seeing what works and what doesn't. 

Stiles's dark eyelashes brush against his cheek as he works, they flutter occasionally against his expressive features. His eyebrows raise slightly as he finds an area he likes and furrow when he doesn't. His lips twitch and purse, his teeth pull his bottom lip lightly. It's infuriating, watching him so closely. Derek holds onto the small amount of control he has left. 

A loud burble makes its way across the room to Derek's ears. He turns to Stiles who is patting his stomach gently. "Shhhh" he hushes.

"You're hungry." Derek notes. 

"No, I'm Stiles." He can't help but to roll his eyes as Stiles chuckles to himself, pleased. "And... I'm almost done. Then we can go." 

Derek pulls out his keys and slips them into Stiles's hand. They're rolled around between his fingers, jingling gently.

"I'll go pick up some lunch and meet you back at my place." His lips brush Stiles's ear. The other man shudders, then nods. God, he smells sweet, Derek notices. 

He walks to the small grocery store a few blocks away. He picks up some fruit and stuff for grilled sandwiches. He rolls a small watermelon around in his hands, he can smell the ripeness. It's a subtle sweetness that reminds him of Stiles. He smiles. 

Stiles is sitting on his couch when he enters. He's got his phone in his hands and an earbud in one ear.

Derek flicks on the light, not that it's needed for either of them. It's more out of habit. Stiles startles slightly as Derek sets the groceries down on the counter. "Derek?" He asks as he pulls out the earbud out. 

"Yeah. You okay?" 

Stiles relaxes back into the couch, "Yeah, just trying to get ahold of Scott. I haven't heard from him all day today."

"Is that unusual?"

"He usually checks in on me at least once by now." Stiles cheeks flush a bit, "not that I need him to, I'm just used to it."

"Hm." Derek ponders as he cuts the rhine off the watermelon and slices it into chunks. He slides it off the cutting board and into a bowl with the back of his knife. Stiles pads over curiously and leans against the counter. Derek slides the bowl over until it touches Stiles's forearm. He nibbles the end tentatively, causing juice to dribble down his palm. He swipes it up with his tongue quickly and pops the rest of the watermelon into his mouth, grinning. He hums appreciatively as he devours the bowl of watermelon while Derek tries not to burn the house down. He can barely tear his eyes from Stiles's lips as they dart out once again to taste the sweet juices. 

The rest of dinner goes without incident and the men rest on the couch with full bellies. Derek's eyelids feel heavy from a night without sleep. Stiles is warm and soft. He unknowingly falls asleep, leaning against the man who smells of safety and home. 


End file.
